Return to Aysel: Another Grimm Tale
by Alicia Blade
Summary: Sequel. Two years have passed since Serena defeated Beryl, and a new threat requires the Guardian of Happy Endings to return to save Aysel again. But this time the biggest threat may be to her own broken and divided heart.
1. Growing Up

YAY I'm posting something new! That always makes me so giddy.

Note: **This is a sequel.** If you have not read The House on Thornrose Lane: A Grimm Tale, I recommend you do so before proceeding. Otherwise I take no responsibility for your confusion.

Many thanks to everyone who has given me ideas and inspiration, motivation and support, while crafting this story.

And huge thanks to KaitlynFall for editing and beta-reading.

**Please see my big news at the end of this chapter!**

Return to Aysel: Another Grimm Tale  
Alicia Blade

Chapter 1: Growing Up_  
There he encountered the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.  
Reclining upon a bed was a princess . . . whose radiant beauty had an almost unearthly luster._  
from Perrault's Sleeping Beauty

Serena had once been called a Guardian, but that seemed like a very long time ago. She had been called Princess once, too, although it had only been for such a brief time that the term had since been relegated to distant memory. She never really wanted to be royalty. She did not care much for being a Guardian either; it brought bad dreams when she thought of it. No, Serena was content—even, sometimes, happy—to be just a girl. Recently graduated from high school. Mere weeks away from attending college. Dreaming of a life filled with dreams and goals and friends and normalcy.

Serena's mother, on the other hand, had never quite become normal. Since Serena had learned the truth—that her mother was, in actuality, a fairy-tale queen, long separated from her beloved husband—she had never quite looked at her the same way. They had both known that someday Queen Serenity of Obelia would have to return to her rightful world, her throne, her life. And Serena would not be returning with her.

That day arrived at the end of a particularly scorching August.

The heat seemed to trivialize the day's import as Serena sat beside her mother on Jacob Grimm's creaky bed. Her hair was clinging to the back of her neck and her palms were clammy, making the act of holding her mother's hand an uncomfortable one, yet neither of them dared break the contact.

Serena sighed, trying her best to ignore the way her legs were melting into the mattress. She knew Jacob Grimm had been around since the 18th century, but couldn't he at least have accepted the one minor technological convenience of air conditioning?

And it didn't help knowing that, as uncomfortable as she was in her shorts and tank top, her mom must have been a hundred times worse. She had dressed the part for her return to Aysel, and Obelia beyond, by wearing an ankle-length, purple satin dress with lace sleeves. She had even done her hair up in two signature buns, the same style that she had taught Serena to wear when she was a kid. The style made her look . . . well, more like a sister than a mother. Serena could only hope that her mother's graceful aging ran in their fairy-tale genes.

Serena, on the other hand, had not dared to dress up at all, due to a deep, almost subconscious fear that she would see the portal to Aysel open up before her and would not be able to resist the desire to walk through it. Whether it was mere curiosity—what _had_ everyone been up to these past two years?—or the magnetic pull of fate, Serena thought it best to avoid the temptation as much as possible. And, as she would be embarrassed to show up so casually dressed beside Her Majesty, she hoped that this shame would compel her to remain firmly in the land of Real Life.

"Are you sure you're going to be all right?" her mother asked, breaking a silence that had stretched on too long as they both resisted the final words. The final farewell.

"Of course, I'm going to be fine," she said, raising here eyes to her mother's teary gaze. "I've been preparing for this for a long time, Mom. It's not like I didn't know it was coming."

"But darling . . . you're still so young. I worry about you. I could stay for a while longer, you know. Wait until you've gone off to college, or . . . or perhaps until you're married?"

With a dramatic groan, Serena shook her head and started analyzing their intertwined fingers. Her mother had such beauiful hands—like porcelain. "College starts up in three weeks. I'm sure I'll have no problem passing the time."

"But it's just that. It's only three weeks away. I could stay here until then, to see my baby girl off to college . . ."

"Mom." Serena invoked her sternest tone and was met with the sight of her mother's disapproving glare because of it. "If I recall correctly, we'd first decided that you would go back as soon as I graduated, and that was over two months ago. You've wasted this whole summer when you could have been with your husband—"

"Your father."

"Going horseback riding and attending royal balls and . . . and all those other things that queens do."

"They do still rule sometimes, on occasion."

"Which is precisely why you should stop wasting the best years of your life and go home!" She'd said it in a joking manner, hoping to illicit a laugh, or at least a smile, but instead she saw only the wrinkle in the center of her mother's otherwise wrinkle-free face that announced oncoming tears. "Oh, Mom . . ."

Her mother inhaled sharply. "I'm sorry. I knew this was going to be hard, it's just . . . I'm going to miss you so much, Serena."

"I'm going to miss you too. But . . . I mean . . . you can still come visit me. It's not like the gate will be closed forever."

There was a squeeze of her hand. "Or you could come visit me."

"Or that." The words were airy, indifferent, and Serena knew it.

"Serena, you know . . . I know you don't like to talk about this, but I feel compelled to say that you _could_ come with me. You belong in Obelia as much as I do."

Serena shook her head—forcefully. "No, I couldn't. I don't. Besides, I would miss . . . everybody."

"Darien?"

"And Melvin too."

"Of course."

"And I'm happy here."

"Are you, dear?" Her voice was filled with that motherly concern that, for some reason, always seemed to fill Serena with guilt. Like she knew that Serena was lying, even when she, herself, had no idea.

"Of course I am. In three weeks I'm going to be in college, rooming with my two best friends, and studying literature, just like I always wanted to. I feel like my life is . . . is . . . Well. I feel like I'm right where I'm supposed to be, right now."

"I'm glad. You know I only want you to be happy."

"And I only want you to be happy. And that means reuniting with your husband, with your _prince,_ and living happily ever after. Finally."

Serena pulled her mother into a hug and finally let some of her tears leak out onto her satin-covered shoulder.

"I love you so much, Serena. And I'm so, so proud of you."

"I love you too, Mom."

"And," her mother continued, pulling away and cupping Serena's face in both hands, "when you _do_ receive that marriage proposal—"

"Mom!"

"I'm just _saying,_ when you do receive that marriage proposal, I expect an invitation. In fact . . . I've always imagined a fairy-tale wedding for you, up in Obelia."

"Mom, please. At this rate I'm going to die an old maid and we both know it."

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure about that. I see how that boy looks at you."

Serena rolled her eyes. It was a conversation they had had a hundred times, "that boy" never being outright named. He didn't need to be. Serena had sensed it too, in the friendship that had grown so close over the last two years, in their innocent teasing, their amiable flirting, the attraction that she could not claim was one-sided. Had never been one-sided (unless one was, of course, thinking of _her_ side).

But Darien, regardless of how he may have sometimes looked at her, or touched her, or teased her, never did anything else. Rarely did they go anywhere together without Melvin tagging along (Serena could not quite remember when he had become a third wheel, or when she'd started feeling like a bad friend for thinking of him that way), and certainly, _certainly_ they had never kissed. In fact, she could not remember Darien even alluding to the desire to kiss her.

Which possibly could have been insulting, if Serena hadn't been grateful for it. Because, despite the attraction, the friendship, the comfort of his presence, the joy that his smiles brought her . . . she could not have said for sure what her reaction to a kiss would have been.

"Let's not talk about it, Mom."

"I just want to be sure."

"I promise that if . . . if anything should happen, I will come to Obelia myself to give you the news."

"I guess I can be satisfied with that."

Serena nodded, then glanced out the dingy window that looked out over the front lawn, overgrown with weeds. Jacob was sitting in the room's only chair, a creaky old rocker, reading and pretending that he couldn't hear their conversation.

"It's getting late," Serena said.

Her mom disengaged one hand and used it to tuck a strand of hair behind Serena's ear. "I don't think the gate operates on a schedule."

"I just feel like the longer we drag this on . . ."

"I know. I know. It just breaks my heart. My baby girl . . ."

"We don't have to say goodbye." Serena smiled, trying to make it as natural as she could. "Actually, I have something for you. You may recognize it." Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a small locket on a golden chain.

"What? Serena, no, I can't take this."

"I want you to take it."

It was the truth. Though her mother had given her this locket for her seventeenth birthday, Serena wasn't sad to be giving it away. The knowledge that her mom would have something to remember her by was much stronger than any regret at losing it. "Look, it has my picture, and Darien and Melvin." She opened it. On the right side of the little locket was Serena's senior year picture. On the left was a tiny image of her squeezed in between her two best friends. Arms around each other. Smiling—laughing. Well, Melvin looked uncomfortable, but he always looked that way in front of a camera, so it was the best that could be hoped for. And it was precisely how Serena wanted her mom to think of them, and of her, in the years to come.

Before her mom could argue anymore, Serena reached up and clasped the necklace around her neck. "Besides, it looks great with that dress."

Her mother reached up and ran her fingers along the chain, smiling, but sadly.

Serena clapped her hands together and stood up from the bed, which creaked its complains at the movement. "Well, I think that's that, then. Since we're not saying goodbye." The statement was punctuated with a loud sniffling and she swiped her sleeve across her nose.

Jacob glanced toward Serena when she stood. Then, seeing that they were about to hug each other again, he turned away once more and flipped a page in his book.

"Tell everyone hello for me," Serena said as she and her mother embraced. "Tell Aysel hello for me. And Dad. And Briar Rose and Alex and Queen Luna and—"

"I will."

Serena tried to dislodge the lump in her throat with a few hard gulps, to no avail, and finally released her mom. "You better go before it gets worse."

There was a moment in which it seemed her mom would protest, start up a new conversation, bring up more worries, but she didn't. Instead, she simply grasped Serena by the shoulders and kissed her forehead. "I love you."

"I love you too."

"All right," she said, louder, and with a deep breath. "I guess I'm ready."

Jacob snapped to attention, as if he'd been completely ignorant of their presence until that moment. "All right, Your Majesty."

"Jacob, please."

"I'm sorry—Serenity. You remember how this works? Keep your eyes closed tight until the door shuts behind you."

"Yes, I remember."

"Well then . . . welcome home. Obelia will be so glad to have you back."

She smiled at him and allowed the storyteller to hold the door open for her.

Serena grasped the headboard to steady herself as she watched her mother walk out onto the small porch that led down to Thornrose Lane—knowing that when the door closed, her mother would not be on Thornrose Lane at all. The glaring sunshine caught in her silver-gray hair and surrounded her with a golden halo, and Serena committed the image to memory, wondering if it would be the last time she ever laid eyes on her loving, giving, devoted mother.

Jacob closed the door and there was a heavy silence that Serena was quick to break. She sniffled and said, shakily, "I guess . . . I'd better get going, then."

"I have something I want to give you." He wrung his hands and paced the room a couple of times, as if he wasn't sure where the mystery gift had gotten to, before looking up at an old mirror that hung on the wall. It was rectangular, with a beaten wooden frame, unpainted, unstained, and the glass was foggy and speckled with black, as old mirrors tended to be. But it was a disguise, Serena knew, and her heart lurched every time she saw this, the fifth and only remaining magic mirror. Although to every other eye it was junk—a worthless antique—when she looked at it she saw its true beauty. She saw the expertly carved golden frame, depicting merfolk and creatures of myth, and the shimmering, almost liquid glass that was created with dwarven magic.

"Jacob?"

He took it off the wall, his wrinkled hands gripping the frame for fear that it might slip from his unsure fingers, and brought it to her.

"No, I couldn't."

"Don't be silly, child. I want you to have it. You are the last Guardian of Aysel."

"But—"

"It is only right that you should have the means of _guarding. _Besides, this way you'll be able to see your mother's beautiful face, when you want to."

She pursed her lips and looked at it—the frame, not the glass—and slowly nodded. It was a temptation her aching heart could not resist. "All right," she said, and gingerly took it from him, setting it down in her lap.

"I'll give you a blanket to carry it home in. I know you'll be careful with it."

"Thank you."

She stroked her fingers idly along the edge, feeling the roughness of the wood. She had a subconscious fear of what might be seen in the glass depths and dared not risk a glance, until Jacob had procured a small blanket and took the mirror from her to package it safely for the trip home. She and her mother had walked—it had seemed like a pleasant way to spend the last few hours of each other's company—but now she was wishing that she would not have to meander through all those streets carrying such a precious treasure with her. It wasn't a fear of having it stolen that worried her—after all, who would want the thing?—but her own clumsiness.

She vowed to be extra careful as Jacob returned it to her.

"Let me get the door for you," Jacob said, grinning, as if holding the door for royalty was his lifelong preoccupation, and Serena peeled herself off the bed, bundle secured against her chest with both arms. "Will you be here on Sunday?"

"The normal time," she said, trying to smile, though she could sense the wet trails that lingered on her cheeks.

He opened the door and she looked out at Jacob Grimm's fenced-in yard, unimproved after these two long years—the grass was still dying and overgrown with weeds, the fence's latch did not work, and apples from the single tree littered the pitiful yard. But the sun _was_ shining.

"Remember," Jacob said behind her. "Keep your eyes open."

She imagined closing them anyway, but the thought was fleeting.

* * *

Serena's childhood home had become the residential equivalent of a ghost town. Nearly all of the furniture, with the exception of a few necessary pieces—Serena's bed and dresser, the sofa, the television, and the computer desk—had been moved into storage, where it would wait patiently for Serena's college graduation and arrival into adulthood, when things like an entertainment console and a dining room table would become necessary. The few belongings that Serena would be moving into her new apartment, only two blocks from the college campus, had been put into boxes which now lived in the desolate living room. But now, with her mother gone, the house did not only feel hollow and barren, it felt lifeless. Almost uninhabitable. It was no longer a home, but merely a shell, a lifeless shelter built of wooden beams and plaster. A place to reside for three tedious weeks before she would travel to the college town, just twenty miles away, and move into the cozy, three-bedroom apartment that she would be sharing with her two best friends.

In her mind, she had already moved out of this house.

Serena climbed the stairs, tired and emotionally overwhelmed, the mirror still safe in her clutches. Her bedroom was just down the hallway and, upon entering, she immediately spotted two unexpected things.

The first, which was, admittedly, not _that_ unexpected, was Puss in Boots. The small gray cat was curled up in his sleeping position at the foot of Serena's bed, but when Serena entered, he deigned to lift his head and greet her with a sleepy yawn.

The second unexpected thing was a necklace—also on Serena's bed.

She froze when she saw it. Diamonds. A collection of stars strung together with bands of twisting, curling gold. The necklace appeared organic, crafted by the most skilled of artisans. The diamonds mined from the richest mountains and inspected with the keenest of eyes, each one selected and cut to maximize its potential and placement in the necklace. In short, it could only have come from a fairy tale.

Serena remembered the necklace. She had only laid eyes on it once, when she was a little girl and had caught her mother trying it on at her vanity, but it was not the sort of necklace one forgets. There was no card or letter with it, but there didn't need to be. She quite clearly remembered her mother's words from that day, so very long ago. "Someday this will be yours, my little princess."

She approached it slowly, as if more worried about disturbing the jewels than the cat who had no interest in them. She set the mirror down on the floor and propped it up against the footboard, still wrapped in the tattered blanket, before lifting the necklace from the bedspread. Its impressive weight had left an indentation in her feather comforter. She held it aloft with both hands, turning it this way and that and drinking in all of the tiny sparkles that caught in the light and reflected on the walls around her. Taking a seat at her vanity, she draped the necklace over her collarbone and, after struggling with the clasp for a moment, secured it around her neck.

It looked ridiculous with her summer tank top, a linen, floral thing that was garish beside the necklace, but Serena didn't mind. The metal was refreshingly cool, even if the weight of it felt oppressive. But what was more important than that was how she was forced to admit that her reflection reminded her not of herself, but of her beautiful, elegant mother.

"Wow."

Startled, her eyes skipped across the mirror's reflection to see Darien lingering in the doorway to her bedroom. It was a bad habit of his, forgetting to knock, and always sneaking up on her, but one that she found almost as charming as she found it infuriating.

Their eyes met in the glass. There was something unusual in the look he was giving her. Something serious, something overwhelming, something . . . unexpected. She stared, unable to speak with his penetrating sapphire eyes locked on her like that. Looking at her both as if he knew every inch of her, body and soul, and yet, also, as if he'd never seen her before in his life.

"Darien?"

"You look like a princess," he said.

Her heart skipped. The words that escaped her then were not what she would have planned on saying if she'd had a choice. Yet they could not have been more truthful.

"And you look like a prince."

The spell broke and he smiled at her, and she smiled back.

Darien came into the room and settled down on her bed. "I was just at Melvin's. I wasn't sure if you were back from the airport yet, but I thought I'd check. How'd it go?"

"All right," she said, turning to face him.

He nodded and she could see his concern in every shadow on his face, the way his hands were clasped together in his lap, the way he leaned forward and inspected her for signs of emotional instability.

"Her plane was on time."

"It must have been really hard."

"It was. But . . . you know, it's not like . . . she's gone to a different planet or anything." A small part of Serena found that comment to be quite witty and she couldn't help wishing that Darien got the joke.

"You know, winter break is just four months away, so I thought maybe we could go visit her. I mean, the three of us."

"I'm sure she would like that."

"I've never been to Norway."

"No, I haven't either."

"You'd fit right in there, of course. It's so obvious that's where you're from. I'm sure you look just like all your relatives."

She looked down at her hands.

"And you'll be able to call her all the time, of course. And write letters."

"Right."

"Anyway . . . you know I'm here, if you want to talk about it."

"I know. Thank you."

There was a short silence, but Darien was quick to shake it off. "Melvin and I were thinking you could use some good old-fashioned distraction tonight, so . . . pizza and video games?"

Her smile became a little less sad, a little less forced. "That sounds great. Is Melvin waiting for us?"

"Probably."

Darien made no move to stand, and so neither did Serena. She listened to the sounds of her house—Puss had started to purr at some phantom stroking, the refrigerator hummed on the first floor. All so familiar, and yet so different now. It seemed that things were changing far too quickly. It terrified her, when she allowed herself to dwell on it. Her mother gone and her childhood disappearing before her eyes.

She started and looked down to see Darien's hands wrapped around hers. He had beautiful hands, too. Although they were larger and rougher than her mothers, his fingers were also long and his skin virtually flawless.

"Serena, there's something I . . . I've been meaning to say."

She raised her eyes and found that he was watching her, his gaze piercing, yet fearful. Desperate, even. Her heart lurched and she couldn't help sitting up straighter in the small vanity chair.

"What is it?"

He inhaled sharply, and looked pale, but his gaze softened a little. "Can you . . . do you think maybe you could take the necklace off first?"

"Why?" she asked, ripping one of her hands from his grip to run it over the jewels.

"You're too pretty in it. I can't think straight."

Heat crept over Serena's cheeks and she tried to scold him with a good-natured glare—he prided himself on his ability to make her blush—and yet, while he quirked a childish grin at her, he did not seem any less serious about the request.

"All right," she said, shifting to the bed with her back to Darien, folding her legs beneath her. "Can you get the clasp?"

There was only the briefest of hesitations before she sensed his fingertips at the nape of her neck. She thought that perhaps they lingered there longer than they needed to before he worked clumsily at the latch. The diamonds fell from her neck and she caught them in both hands, once again mesmerized by their brilliance. Their perfection. The fact that they had once belonged to her mother.

Her mother, the queen.

She felt Darien's fingers uncertainly tracing the peaks of her shoulders, brushing her long blonde hair away from her back, and meandering like a summer's breeze along her bare arms until they settled at the dip of her elbows. Serena noticed that Darien's breathing had sped up, almost as soon as she noticed that hers had as well.

"What I wanted to tell you . . ."

She had to struggle to hear his voice, even though he was so close that she could feel the warmth of him on her back. A chill stole up her spine, sending goose bumps along her arms, and Darien's grip tightened almost imperceptibly.

"And I realize this is either going to be the absolute best time to say this . . . or, possibly, the absolute worst time to say it, but . . . but I can't . . . Sere, I just wanted. . . . A-are you crying?"

A sob shook her and she sniffed, loudly. "No," she lied, her fingers wrapping around the necklace strands, clutching it against her stomach until her knuckles were white. The sudden torrent of tears was inescapable, unconquerable, and she buried her face in her forearms, unwilling to release the jewels.

Darien's arms wrapped around her and she allowed herself to fall back against him. She cried for her mother, who had sacrificed eighteen years of her marriage in order to protect her only child. And she cried for herself, no longer a child at all, and yet, somehow, feeling in need of protection and guidance more now than she had all her life.

Darien's arms cradled her, holding her head against his chest. His heartbeat was solid against her back, beating in time with her own, and the realization ceased the crying almost at once until only the occasional sob broke the peaceful cocoon that Darien's presence wove around her. She closed her eyes and allowed herself, this once, to simply enjoy the feel of him. His strength. His heat. His cheek against her temple. His breathing. His scent that had become so familiar to her over the past two years that she hardly noticed it anymore unless he was very, very close to her. And these stolen moments of intimacy were so few that the scent overwhelmed her now and felt like something to be treasured and harbored and remembered.

Finally Serena felt her breathing return to normal and she tossed the necklace onto the blankets, feeling her muscles relax at its release and settle more fully into Darien's embrace. Gulping, she sought out her voice. "I'm sorry," she said. "What was it you wanted to tell me?"

There was a pause in which he was so motionless she began to wonder whether he had heard her, but then she felt the shaking of his head. "Never mind. We can talk about it later."

"Are you sure?"

He didn't respond, once again a statue made of only warmth and a steady, pounding heartbeat. She sighed and imagined, briefly, what it would feel like if he were to kiss her on the temple, the cheek, the neck—his lips were already so close that it not only seemed possible in that moment, but even likely_. _She tried to sense it—the feathered caress, the gentle pressure, the intake of breath that would follow as it occurred to each of them what he had just done . . .

But, despite the closeness, despite the perfect, ideal opportunity, Darien didn't kiss her.

Just like all the times he had never kissed her before.

* * *

**_BIG NEWS! _**I'm going to be published! My debut novel, CINDER, is scheduled for release in Spring 2012 under my real name, Marissa Meyer. Please see my profile for more details!


	2. The Guardian Returns

Wow, what an amazing response to chapter one! I'm glad you are all excited for this story and hope it will continue to entertain.

Huge thanks to KaitlynFall for betaing and editing. Her ideas for ways to improve this story have been invaluable.

* * *

Return to Aysel: Another Grimm Tale  
Alicia Blade

Chapter Two: The Guardian Returns  
"_I know not how it is; you are very happy, but I feel very strange;  
some misfortune is certainly about to befall us."_  
from The Twelve Dancing Princesses

Serena awoke to the sound of music.

She opened one eye and peered around the room, the thought of moving from the warm indentation her body had made on the bed an unappealing one. She had been dreaming of dancing. Tendrils of the dream crept back into her mind and she closed her eye again and sought it out. The comfort she had felt. The joy. The very belonging. In fact, when she furrowed her brow and tried her hardest to relive the dream moments prior to waking, she realized that she'd been in Aysel, in the ballroom of the palace. And she'd been dancing. She could feel it now, the way her feet tingled, the way the music sang in her ears.

But no. She opened both eyes now. The music really did continue—a humming, melodic sound, muffled as if very far away. Curiosity overcoming her grogginess, Serena sat up and cocked her head to listen.

It was a slow song. A waltz, perhaps, or a child's play song. She looked around at all the boxes stacked around her room. Her very last belongings. Everything had been put away now, except two chosen outfits, her bedding, and her hygiene essentials—enough to survive the last two days before the big move, the big change, the big trip to their new apartment. But she hadn't really been worried about that. If anything, she was looking forward to it.

But where was the melody coming from? Had a radio gone into one of the boxes and somehow gotten switched on? Perhaps it was set on a timer? Or maybe it was a music box? It sounded like a music box, though she couldn't remember packing one, or even owning one, for that matter.

Sweeping her legs off the bed, she took a moment to adjust to the air—chillier on an August night than expected—and crept in her bare feet to the stack of boxes that loomed closest to her. The rustle of her pajamas was loud enough to compete with the quiet music, which did not get any louder. Pursing her lips, she stopped and looked around again. From outside, perhaps? Was a neighbor listening to music?

But no, an inspection of the open window did not bring about a solution. And still the music continued, lulling and sweet.

Serena planted her fists on her hips, now irritated at the sound that had so rudely awoken her from such a lovely dream. She felt, now, that she'd probably been dancing with a prince . . . which, of course, meant only one thing. And to be awoken from that was a tragedy in itself.

And then her eyes fell on the bundle propped against the side of her bed, tucked between the headboard and the vanity. She had not bothered to remove the mirror from its ratty shroud, and so it had spent the last few weeks a mystery package amidst the boxes. She'd almost forgotten about it entirely, in fact, as the pain from losing her mother was lost in the hustle and bustle of going off to college.

She approached the mirror, suddenly certain that she'd discovered the source of the music. Settling onto her bed, she lifted the mirror and unwrapped the blanket.

The glass—still old, still dingy—glowed iridescent and gold, like a candle. Warm light twinkled over Serena's walls as she held up the mirror and peered into the murky reflection.

The mirror shifted and swirled, drawing Serena into its depths.

She saw a ballroom. Not, she thought at first, the ballroom of Aysel, but perhaps the ballroom of Obelia, where she had never been. And a dancing couple, still indistinct, swirling around the floor. She could not see where the music came from. She could make out indistinct shadows around the couple, perhaps other people dancing in the ballroom, but the mirror was selective of what it showed.

Slowly, the couple twirling in the middle of the floor began to materialize in the reflection. First, the woman's golden dress, like a swatch of sunshine in the glass. The man's form—comparatively tall and bulky beside the lady—was a dark shadow moving in time with her, gracefully leading her across the marble floor. He wore a white cloak and, from what Serena could see, had whitish-silver hair. The woman had light hair too, beautiful pale locks cascading in messy ringlets all down her back. The hair seemed familiar to Serena and she squinted at it, the woman's back to her, the man's face still too vague to make out. Was it Mina and Malachite? Mina had had beautiful gold-colored hair that had been worthy of much envy. But did that mean that the prince had cut his hair? It had been so long before.

The couple turned again and the woman slowly materialized before Serena's eyes. An earlobe decorated with a single pearl stud. The curve of a pale jaw. A flushed cheek. Ruby lips open slightly as if in a sigh. Closed eyelids and thick lashes caressing the flawless skin.

Serena gasped, one hand flying to her heart at a sudden aching. Instant tears, unbidden, unexpected, crept into her eyes as she watched her mother—the portrait of royal beauty—spinning around the dance floor.

She couldn't help but smile at seeing her face again. She didn't realize how much she'd missed her mother until that moment, seeing her now, for the first time, in her kingdom. In love. Happy.

Although . . .

Serena listed her head, unable to tear her gaze away from her mother's reflection. Her mother, while not looking sad, maybe didn't look as happy as Serena would have liked to see her. Surely she still missed her daughter. Surely she felt at least a little homesick for this world, that had been her home for eighteen long years.

In fact, the woman looked simply . . . tired. As Serena watched, she saw her mother's head begin to droop a little, before being spun by her dance partner—Serena imagined it could only be her father in the white cloak. Except… her father had had dark brown hair, not white. Had he gone gray in such a short period of time?

And why did her mother look so exhausted?

It must have been a busy few weeks, becoming reacquainted with the castle, the officials, the citizens of Obelia. Were they now celebrating her return with a ball? It seemed that perhaps the queen would have rather celebrated with a long nap.

The couple spun again, stealing her mother's face out of view and Serena watched as her father's face began to gain definition from the shadow. Broad shoulders and imposing height that dwarfed her mother's small frame. She saw his jaw, clean-shaven where there had been a beard before. And his skin, so pale, where before he had been deeply tanned. And eyes that…

Serena's brow drew down. She leaned over the mirror, staring into its depths, sure she was mistaken. The man's eyes sharpened beneath her intense stare.

They were the palest blue eyes she'd ever seen. As bright and beautiful as diamonds.

This man was not her father.

The couple slowly came to a stop. The queen's head listed and collapsed onto the strange man's shoulder, and his lips curled. The smile was proud, even cruel. A shiver ran down Serena's spine.

The man lowered her mother into a neat dip, cradling her head with one strong arm. She opened her eyes and blinked up at him. Her lips parted in surprise, as if she didn't know how she had gotten there, or who this man was.

He lifted his free hand and placed it on her neck. His long fingers traced the curve of her throat almost tenderly, though the sight sickened Serena. His hand drifted down over her mother's collarbone and sternum, and then paused, lingering over her heart.

His smile grew. He seemed so pleased with himself.

Then there was blood.

Serena's mother gasped, but the sound caught in her throat, strangling her. Serena could only stare, unable to comprehend what she was seeing.

The man lifted his hand away, and in his fist he held a bright red, glistening heart. Still beating.

Serena began to shake, sure she was still dreaming. Sure her lovely dreams had turned to nightmares. Goose bumps covered her head to toe, and not from the cold night air.

Her mother continued to stare up at the man with her heart in his grip. She blinked—she was not dead, but her face seemed frozen with horror. Unable to speak, or scream, or move.

The man chuckled, a low laugh that churned Serena's stomach. Then he leaned down and whispered in her mother's ear, loud enough that Serena heard his word perfectly. "Your gift is appreciated, your majesty. Now you may sleep."

Now sooner had he spoken the words than Queen Serenity released a weak sigh and collapsed limply in his hold.

Serena cried out and shoved the mirror off her lap. It landed with a thud on the carpet. The music ceased. The light faded away until Serena was left grasping the cotton material over her own heart and panting in the darkness.

* * *

"Lady Serena? What—"

"There's something wrong in Aysel," she said, brushing past Jacob Grimm into the small, humid house.

"In Aysel?" He shut the door behind her and turned to watch Serena pacing around the room, knotting her hands. Serena had not bothered to change from her pajamas and stood before him in cotton drawstring pants and a hooded sweatshirt. "What do you mean, there's something wrong in Aysel?"

"The mirror showed me. . . . My mother . . ."

"Serena?"

"I-I have to go back. I have to make sure she's okay."

"But I don't understand. What did you see?"

"I saw her dancing."

His bushy eyebrows drew together.

"She wasn't with my father. She was with . . . this . . . this horrible, evil man. This monster!" She clamped her eyes shut against the reoccurring image that hadn't stopped flashing through her mind since she'd shoved away the mirror.

"A monster? I don't understand."

"I saw him . . . I think he took her heart. I don't know how it's possible but . . . she's in danger."

"You say he took her _heart_?" Jacob looked horrified. "Is . . . is she . . . ?"

"No." She shook her head, hard enough so that even she believed it. "Only sleeping. He told her to sleep and . . . and I think she was still breathing, she just . . . but I have to go back!"

Jacob deserted the door of his shack and made his way carefully to his bed. After fishing around on his nightstand, he found his single monocle and lifted it to his eye. He frowned at Serena for a moment, before slowly nodding. "You are the Guardian. It is only proper."

"I'm not going as a Guardian." She spat the sour word from her tongue. "I'm going as a daughter."

"All right."

The one eye, magnified behind the lens, scanned Serena's length. She glanced down and shrugged.

"They would make me change into one of those damned dresses anyway."

"Shall I come with you, Lady Serena?"

She sucked in a quick breath and folded her hands into the single large pocket of the sweatshirt. "I'm afraid you might slow me down."

He nodded. "Then I shall stay and protect the mirror."

Ah—the mirror. "I'm sorry, Jacob. I left it at home. I was in such a hurry, and I wasn't thinking."

He hesitated. "Then I will go retrieve it and ensure its safety."

"Thank you. Goodbye, Jacob."

She did not wait for him, the thought of her mother still caught in the embrace of that man haunted her, hurried her out of the hovel. Grasping the doorknob, she shut her eyes—tightly—and slammed the door behind her.

She remembered the feeling well, but still was not prepared for it. The topsy-turvy lurching of her stomach. The spinning of her thoughts within her skull. The falling, tumbling through space, until she landed upright, suddenly, unpredictably, with her feet firmly planted on the wooden porch of Wilhelm Grimm's small shack. No longer on Thornrose Lane.

It was nighttime in Aysel, too. The air was hot and humid—thunderstorm weather. She did not mean to loiter on the edge of Aysel, standing on this small creaky porch and looking out at the moonlit fields that stretched out in all directions before her. But for a long moment she found that her legs could not be convinced to move forward.

The smell of the place struck her as a sudden, startling memory. Hay and dirt and clean, fresh, rural air. She breathed in deeply. Basked in the warmth that clung to her skin. Licked her lips and tasted it—almost salty, like ocean air, though there was no ocean near the farmlands of Aysel. The moon was full, but its yellowish color was eerie rather than comforting, and clouds were quickly rolling in from the horizon.

Having taken in her fill of memories, Serena dashed off the porch and found the dirt road just as she remembered it, and ran.

* * *

By the time Serena reached the cobblestone roads of the town, with its quaint houses slumbering around her, the clouds had fully take over the sky and the faint rumble of thunder could be heard in the distance. The lights from the castle guided her onward. Its spires and towers loomed like faint shadows against the night sky. Her heart was beating wildly now, mostly panicked for her mother, although she couldn't deny that there was excitement here too. Excitement to see her friends, to be in the safe harbor of Aysel Castle once again.

The castle gate was closed, but a few loud knocks had it swinging open without question and the face of a young guard appearing on the other side.

"Yes, m'lady?"

The first thing she noticed was the silver-lined cloud that hovered innocently above his head. His destiny. The fated aura that only Guardians of Aysel could see.

The recognition was so great that it sent Serena back a step and she needed to stop and gather her thoughts while the boy gawked at her. He looked like a teenager; Serena was sure he was younger than her.

"I need to speak with the king and queen. Immediately," she said, breathless.

"I am sorry, but it is the middle of the night. Surely it can wait until morning?"

"Surely it cannot," she said, forcing her way past the gate. The guard did not fight her, merely stood back and blinked at her uncertainly. She felt a little bad about her rudeness, especially as this boy seemed completely unskilled at guarding the castle. Clearly the royal family did not feel they had much to worry about if this was the best person they could think to place on the nightwatch.

"But, m'lady," he said, fidgeting with the tip of a long spear, "the king and queen will be sleeping."

"This cannot wait."

He frowned and shifted his weight.

With a sigh, Serena fixed her gaze on the boy and said, "Look. I am the Guardian of Happy Endings. I demand to see the king and queen—_now_."

He looked startled and hugged the spear to one shoulder. Then he craned his neck and stared hard at her with wide eyes. Then gasped. "Ah! I-I'm sorry. I didn't recognize you. Ah—but I do now. You don't remember me, but I was there, at the final battle with the Guardians, when you—"

"I'm sorry, but I don't have time to stand here and chat."

"Oh! Oh, of course, of course. R-right this way."

She followed him to the southern entrance of the castle, a grand wooden door with iron hinges. When they had entered the corridor, the guard hailed another soldier standing within. "This is the Guardian of Happy Endings. She needs to speak with Their Royal Majesties."

The man's eyes confessed surprise, but his actions were all professionalism as he clicked his heels and bowed curtly at Serena.

"Will you wait in the throne room?" he asked, already heading that direction himself.

Serena followed. "That's fine. But please be quick."

The guard left her alone in the throne room and she found herself standing in the shadows and marveling at the immense ceiling—a glass dome that showed the first splatters of rain outside. Crystal chandeliers cast rainbows along the marble floor and an array of candles tinged the room with orange light. At the front stood the ornately carved thrones upon their carpeted platform. Serena approached the platform slowly and thought of the first time she had been there, the day she had saved baby Cytherea, the daughter of Mina and Malachite, from the clutches of Rumpelstiltskin.

It had been her first act as the Chosen One, as the Guardian of Happy Endings, though she didn't know it at the time.

Her wait dragged on, and time slowed in the massive, echoing, shadow-filled throne room. Serena, growing impatient, settled onto the queen's throne and folded her arms and jogged her foot up and down to relieve the pent-up energy. Every moment her mother's danger could be growing. What was taking King Artemis and Queen Luna so long? She certainly hoped they weren't wasting her valuable time getting dressed up in their Sunday best to come greet her.

The tension in her shoulders was palpable—the tension in the air was palpable, too, as if the very atmosphere in the castle had weight to it. It was pressing down on her, dragging her to the cold ground. The image of her mother hanging, helpless, in that man's embrace floated before her, taunting her.

"Serena!"

She started and jumped off the throne. Spinning, she saw—not the king and queen, but Prince Zoicite. He was dressed in his nightclothes, a long white linen shirt and loose gray pants, and his feet were bare; his wavy blonde hair was filled with unruly tangles, as if he'd been tossing and turning all night.

"Zoicite."

The first familiar face in Aysel sparked something in Serena's heart and she was glad that she didn't start crying at the sight of him. When he had approached, she attempted to bow respectively before him, but he instead drew her into a hug. She was glad of it and returned the embrace without hesitation.

"I knew you would come, Serena. I knew you would come to help us. I am so very glad to see you."

She pushed herself away from him. "What do you mean? What's been happening that I'm needed for?"

"Surely you must know. Or . . . why else would you have come?"

"It _is_ her!" Looking past Zoicite's shoulder, Serena saw Amy hurrying in from the same hallway, cinching a robe over a protruding belly. "Oh, Serena, it's so good to see you. Has it really been two years already?"

Serena ignored the question and instead placed her palms on Amy's stomach. "Amy! You're—"

"Six months," the princess said, but her flicker of a smile was short-lived as she pulled Serena into another hug. "I'm so glad you're here."

"Me too, Amy," she said, realizing it was the truth. "And congratulations. But where are Luna and Artemis? I sent for them when I first arrived."

"Yes, Serena, we know," said Zoicite. He traded concerned looks with his wife. "And there is a guard waiting for them to come, still, but . . . but there are strange things happening."

"What sort of strange things?"

"As the guard you sent informed me, he went straight to my parents' room and tried for nearly ten minutes to wake them—pounding on the door, yelling, screaming, everything short of breaking the door in. He tried the latch, fearful for their safety, but it was locked from the inside. Then he tried Mina and Malachite's room, but it was the same situation. He was being so loud it woke Amy and me up, and we are quite a ways down that corridor. I am surprised the whole castle hasn't woken up in an uproar."

"It's so empty these days, there isn't anyone to wake up," Amy said.

Zoicite continued, "I told the man to go wake up Nephlite and send him here, and then to return to my parents' room and keep trying."

No sooner had he said this than Prince Nephlite emerged from the hallway, just as disheveled as his younger brother. "Lady Serena! You came!"

Something in Nephlite's countenance terrified Serena. His eyes were bloodshot and surrounded by dark, sleepless circles. His complexion was pale and tinged with a strange color as if he were ill. And above his head, invisible to the others, a stormy cloud lingered ominously in the air.

"Nephlite, you look like you haven't slept—"

"I haven't slept. Not this night, at least."

"What happened?"

He looked at his brother with a question in his eyes, but Zoicite shook his head. "I was just about to tell her."

"Tell me what?"

With an air of desperation, Nephlite grabbed Serena by both shoulders, tried to speak, and then collapsed into the queen's throne.

"Lita," he said, choking on the word. "She . . . she's gone."

Serena shuddered. "What do you mean, she's gone?"

"She disappeared," Zoicite said.

"When?"

"Just last night," said Amy.

"There was no sign of her," Nephlite said, on the verge of tears. "No letter, no note, no goodbye. She had not said anything that would make me think she wanted to leave." His voice snagged and he bent his head and covered his eyes with one hand, his fingers rubbing harshly at their lids. "But there was also no sign of . . . of an intruder, or—"

"Tell her about the door," said Zoicite.

"What door?" Serena looked between the two princes.

"Yesterday morning when I woke up, alone, the door to our quarters was locked from the inside. We never lock it. And surely if Lita had left in the middle of the night, she couldn't have locked it from the inside and I'm certain that I didn't either."

"Locked from the inside? Like the king and queen's room?"

"I fear it is so, Lady Serena. And Malachite and Mina's as well."

"Take me to their rooms, then. If something were to happen—"

"Right this way."

Serena was surprised that she remembered the layout of the castle as well as she did. She believed that even without Zoicite guiding her into the mess of halls, she would have been able to find the royal family's quarters without much difficulty.

As they approached, they heard clanging and yelling and pounding that steadily grew louder.

The guard had solicited the help of three more soldiers; two were posed at the door of Mina and Malachite's room, doing everything in their power to wake the couple within—if there was a couple within at all—and the other two stood down the hallway at the king and queen's room. They all looked frustrated and afraid for their sovereigns.

"Stop being ridiculous and knock down the door," Serena yelled when they had reached Mina and Malachite's room.

They glanced at her in surprise and then each reached for their weapons as if they'd been waiting for just such an order. But before they could strike at the wooden barrier, it swung open of its own accord.

The guards gasped and stepped back, to see Malachite standing agitated in the doorway with blazing eyes and folded arms.

"What is the meaning of this? My wife is exhausted and you are making it impossible for her to sleep!"

The guards exchanged nervous, uncertain glances with each other, but they were saved from making their explanations when Serena brushed past them. "Malachite!"

He gaped at her. "Serena? Is it you?"

"Are you all right? Is Mina here?"

"What? Yes, yes. I'm fine. Mina . . . she is here, of course, but she would like some peace and quiet. . . . Why are you here? Is it because of Lita?"

"It's because of everyone." She looked down the hallway to see the other two guards having no more success with Luna and Artemis than before. She returned her gaze to Malachite. "These men have been trying to wake you for close to half an hour."

Shock registered on Malachite's face. "Surely not. Neither of us could have slept through that racket."

"But you did. And they have not been able to awaken the king and queen." Turning away from the dazed prince, she rushed down the hallway, yelling as she went, "Stop wasting your time and break down the damned door!"

This time, the order did not bring about a sudden emergence of the king or queen and so the soldiers raised their weapons and attacked the door until it was little more than splinters.

When the opening was wide enough, Serena pushed past the two guards. The rest of the party followed close behind. She passed through a salon and a private library before reaching the bedroom, then paused at the foot of the bed.

The sun was just beginning to rise outside the floor-to-ceiling window, turning the room shades of orange and pink. Artemis lay sprawled across the huge bed with long silver hair splayed across the pillow, snoring as if he had no intention of waking up any time soon.

But there was no sign of Luna.

* * *

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	3. Dancing Shoes

A million thanks to all reviewers and my awesome beta, KaitlynFall.

Return to Aysel: Another Grimm Tale

Alicia Blade

Chapter 3: Dancing Shoes_  
Every night when the princesses were in bed, the king locked the  
door and bolted it. But in the morning when he unlocked the door,  
he saw that their shoes were worn out with dancing._  
from The Twelve Dancing Princesses

"It is the same. It is precisely the same," Nephlite muttered to himself from the foot of Luna and Artemis's bed. His father sat confused and distraught beside him, their hands grasped together in silent support of their losses.

It had taken five minutes of shaking and yelling for them to finally awaken the king from his unnatural sleep. Once the situation had been explained to the frazzled king, Serena, the guards, Zoicite, and Malachite had all set to searching the room high and low for clues, but nothing seemed out of place. No note, no sign of an intruder, no sign of an escape, and Artemis confirmed that they never locked the door to their quarters, as it had been found. It was, indeed, exactly the same as Lita's mysterious disappearance the night before.

"Is there anything else that may be related? Any other strange occurrences lately? Any strange behaviors from either of them?" Serena asked, pacing the floor before the silk-covered bed. "Anything at all, no matter how irrelevant it may seem?"

Nephlite shook his head and Artemis stared with a furrowed brow at his hands.

"I can think of something," said Malachite, his expression just as worried. "And the more I think of it, the more I think it must be related."

"What is it?"

His blue eyes turned to look solemnly out the window, at a gray overcast sky. "Exhaustion. They had both seemed incredibly tired the day before they . . ."

"Exhaustion?" said Serena. "How so?"

"Lita had hardly moved from her bed the entire day before, except to join us for meals. She'd been feeling tired for a few days beforehand and I thought maybe she just wasn't feeling well," said Nephlite.

"And mother had the same affliction yesterday," said Malachite. "She took two naps and I noticed that she kept nodding off during the meeting with the Cashlin diplomats. That isn't like her at all."

"It was peculiar," Artemis mused, idly scratching behind his ear. "She told me she'd had bad dreams the night before that had kept her awake."

Nephlite inhaled a quick breath and glanced at his father. "Yes . . . yes, Lita had mentioned nightmares as well. A recurring dream, she said."

"And also," Malachite continued, rubbing his arms as if to ward away a chill, "I fear that Mina is now facing the same ailment."

"It must be related," Serena said, and she had an additional reason to believe so that she did not share with them.

Her gift as a Guardian of Aysel had not diminished with her long absence. The ability to see the fates of those around her still hung like both a blessing and a curse before her eyes—small, shivering auras that drifted like clouds above their owners. They could be pearly white like cloud puffs on a bright, summer day—which told Serena that this person had nothing to fear in their lives. That they were happy and were meant to remain so, for the time being.

Or the auras could be black and heavy, sickly-looking wisps that seemed to suck the light from the air around them. Black auras meant that the person was fated for an immediate tragic ending, if the Guardian could not help them, and quickly.

In this room, only Zoicite and Amy held white auras. Not the pristine, vibrant white of perfectly joyful, fairy-tale days—after all, their friends and mothers and sisters were missing, and who could be perfectly contented at such a time?

Artemis and Nephlite had significantly more dreadful fates lingering about them. Not black—thank heavens, they weren't black—but rather a charcoal gray that spoke of potential misery if their life partners, their happily-ever-afters, were not soon returned to them.

Malachite alone was a mixture of the two. A pale gray cloud. Danger and sadness looming on the horizon, should anything happen to Mina—and Serena had no doubt that something was about to.

She did not tell the people about this gift. One of the greatest weapons against tragedy is hope, and she did not ever want to give people the chance of losing what hope they had.

"I would like to see Mina," she said. Malachite nodded. "The rest of you stay here and keep looking for any clues—_anything_ out of the ordinary." She paused on her way to the door and turned to Amy, who was busy searching through Luna's boudoir. "Amy, how are _you_ feeling?"

The princess looked up and tucked a blue curl behind one ear. "I do feel tired lately, but I just thought that was normal," she said, trailing off and mindlessly fingering the robe belt over her stomach.

Serena frowned. "Let's hope that's all it is."

* * *

Mina was sleeping soundly when Serena and Malachite crept into her room, despite the muted daylight that flooded the walls around her.

"Mina. Mina, darling," Malachite said, sitting beside her and shaking her by the shoulder.

The princess groaned and swatted him away, but the prince continued until she was forced to roll over and peer up at him through heavy eyelids. "What do you want?"

"Lady Serena is here. She wants to speak with you."

"Lady Ser . . . who?"

"Lady Serena. You remember . . . the Guardian."

She looked slightly more awake and propped herself up on her elbows. Her eyes fell on Serena then, and skipped briefly over to her husband, before returning to the girl with surprise. But it was a drowsy, almost disinterested surprise.

"Serena . . . what are you doing here?"

"Mina, I have to ask you some questions," said Serena, seating herself on the other side of the bed.

"Can it wait? I'm so sleepy." With a sigh, Mina collapsed back onto her pillows.

"I'm afraid it can't. How long have you been feeling this exhaustion?"

The princess groaned. "Oh, I've been feeling tired for a couple days, but nothing like this. I can barely keep my eyes open." She said this, in fact, with her eyes closed.

"Have you had any strange dreams that you can remember? Any nightmares?"

Mina rubbed at her eyes and yawned, before peering up at Serena again. When finally she responded, she spoke slowly. "Yes. Nightmares. All night long."

"What do you remember about them?"

"They didn't start out as nightmares. I remember them being wonderful, at first . . . there was a lake, a beautiful lake, and I was in a boat upon it, and I felt . . ." She glanced at her husband and smiled. "I had the same feeling that I did when I first met you."

"And then what?" said Serena.

"And then . . . I was in a ballroom . . . dancing. There was music . . . and I was dancing . . . at first, with you, Malachite, but . . . but then it wasn't you anymore."

Serena tensed. "Who were you dancing with?"

Mina gathered the blankets up in her fists, and her eyes wandered up to the ceiling. "A stranger," she whispered. "A man. He had the most unusual eyes."

Serena felt sick to her stomach. "Like diamonds?"

"Yes! Yes, exactly," Mina said, sitting up, and then just as quickly slumping back down as if her body did not have the energy even for that small movement. "How did you know?"

"Serena! Serena, I think I may have found something." Amy burst into the room carrying two pairs of shoes. Or . . . what looked like they could have once been shoes.

"Amy, what is it?"

She held up the ragged things. "I found these in Luna's closet, and I found these in Lita's."

"What do shoes have to do with anything?" Malachite said, annoyed with the interruption.

"They're both brand new," Amy said, handing both pairs to Serena, who surveyed them with mute fascination. "Or, at least, they were up until a few days ago. Nephlite said he bought them for Lita on their last trip to town, but that she had not had a chance to wear them yet. And Artemis didn't think Luna had worn those more than once or twice. But look at them!"

Both shoes had been torn nearly to shreds—threads peeling at the toes, buckles hanging broken along the satin ankle bands, leather soles half-separated from the heels.

"There was one other pair like this in Lita's room, too. Do you think it's related?"

"Mina, let me see your shoes," Serena said.

"They're in the wardrobe." The princess gestured to a large oak cabinet on the side of the room.

Serena left the two pairs of worn shoes on the bed. Amy followed her to the wardrobe and they sat sifting through the multiple pairs of shoes that filled it, but it did not take long to discover one sad pair of satin dance shoes.

"How often have you worn these?" Serena asked, holding them up.

Malachite helped Mina sit up to get a better look at the shoes, and when she did, she gasped. "Why—never! They were a gift for my birthday last month. I'm sure they were untouched."

"Here, these too," said Amy, holding up a second pair of destroyed slippers. "But what does it mean?"

Serena sighed and tossed the decrepit pair of shoes onto the bed with the rest. "The twelve dancing princesses."

"The twelve what?"

Shaking her head, she counted off on her fingers. "Lita, Luna, Mina, my mother. . . ."

"Mama?"

Serena started and turned to see a toddler princess lingering in a doorway that separated Mina and Malachite's bedroom from the nursery. Her hair was a mess of golden ringlets and her face was heart-shaped and pearly pink, and she was squinting suspiciously at the commotion in the room.

"Cytherea, I'm here," Mina called.

Malachite darted forward and lifted his daughter into his arms, carrying her back to the bed. He settled her on top of the quilts and she crawled to Mina and put her hand to Mina's forehead.

"Mama sick?"

"Mom's just tired," Malachite said.

Serena gulped, noticing that Malachite's aura, the small cloud that hung over his head, invisible to everyone else, had grown a tinge darker, like a storm cloud brewing on the horizon.

There was a knock on the door and they all turned to see Zoicite and Artemis entering the room with shadows over their faces.

"A messenger has just arrived from Obelia," Artemis said. "It seems that we are not the only kingdom experiencing these tragedies."

"What do you mean?" asked Malachite.

"Queen Serenity and Princess Briar Rose have also vanished."

* * *

"Tell King Kenneth that the Guardian of Happy Endings has arrived," Artemis said to the Obelian messenger, "and she is doing all she can to help us with this mystery."

"Will she be coming to Obelia?"

Artemis turned to Serena, whose gaze was firmly entranced with the oak wood surface of the massive dining hall table. She shook her head—slowly, not fully decided. "Obelia has only the two royal ladies, is that true?"

"Yes, the queen and the princess."

"Then there is nothing I can do there." She did not look at the messenger, not wanting to see the disappointment on his face. Closing her eyes, she let her head fall into the palms of her hands, fingers raking at her bangs.

Lita, Luna, Briar Rose, and her mother . . . four disappeared princesses.

Mina would make five.

And if she was unable to keep them from the same fate as the others, there would still be seven more princesses, as the tale went. Twelve dancing princesses in all.

There was still Amy, of course. And Raye in Cashlin. Had she been attacked too? Did Serena have any way of finding out?

Would that strange man be cruel enough to take Cytherea too?

Even if he did, that was still only eight. Were there any more princesses in Grimm's fairy-tale world? None that she had heard of and yet, for being the Guardian over this strange land, she didn't know as much about it as she thought she should. There must have been two or three dozen princesses in all of the stories combined. How many of them were living in the world now? Were there kingdoms other than Aysel, Cashlin, and Obelia that she hadn't even heard of? How big did this world extend? Surely there must be something past the purple-misted mountains to the west, and the bejeweled forest to the east. Surely the land did not drop off after the golden wheat fields to the south, and end at Obelia castle to the north?

How big _was_ Aysel?

She rubbed at her temples. She heard the messenger stand from the table, but her head felt so heavy that she did not know if she could raise it to see him off.

What did she know, for sure?

She knew the story. In the tale of the twelve dancing princesses, the girls traveled to an underground lake and castle where they danced with twelve handsome princes throughout the night, until their shoes were danced to shreds.

But what did that have to do with the silver-haired man she'd seen in the mirror? What did that have to do with his stealing their hearts?

And why didn't all twelve princesses descend at once, as in the story? Why were they disappearing one by one?

Head spinning, Serena forced herself to sit back in her chair and squint tiredly at the people sitting around her. Malachite, Artemis, and Nephlite to her left, looking as miserable as three men could. Zoicite and Amy sat to her right. Amy was watching her, her chin resting on interlaced fingers. The messenger had gone and two servants were bringing plates of fruit and pastries up from the kitchens, moving like ghosts among the silent royalty.

"Lady Serena?" Amy said, and Serena wondered if it had yet occurred to the princess that the danger could be coming for her. Perhaps not next, perhaps not tonight, but it would.

"Yes?"

"I've asked the servants to prepare a guestroom for you. It is in the east wing, between our room and Malachite's. They've set out a change of clothes for you as well."

Serena had forgotten about her less-than-professional attire: pajama pants and a sweatshirt, but was too worried to feel embarrassed. She scanned the princess's simple cotton dress—beautiful and elegant in its own way, but surprisingly economical. "Something simple like yours, I hope?"

"Actually, I thought perhaps you would be more comfortable in pants? I don't know precisely what you're intending to do while you're here, but I thought something with more mobility may be in order."

Serena smiled gratefully, the first time she'd smiled since she'd stepped into the castle. On her first visit to Aysel she'd been given nothing but gowns and high-heeled slippers, which made her feel just like the princess she'd always wanted to be, but weren't exactly ideal for hunting down witches and evil queens. "That's perfect, Amy. Thank you. But I won't be staying in the guest quarters tonight."

Amy furrowed her brow. "You can't be leaving so soon. You just arrived."

"No, I'm not leaving. I'm going to stay with Mina tonight." She glanced at Malachite, but his pale blue eyes did not meet hers.

"I will not leave her," he said.

"I know," said Serena. "You will go to bed like usual, and I will hide somewhere and watch. To see. . . . Well, just to see."

* * *

Having nothing useful to do, Serena found herself wandering aimlessly about the castle and doing her best to stave off the memories that grew around her. She spent most of the afternoon in the castle's vast library, searching for whatever she could find that might relate to stolen hearts and dancing spells. In one of the history books she did find mention of the original Twelve Dancing Princesses, the story of a king who had twelve daughters who disappeared nightly, only to discover each morning that their brand new shoes had been danced to pieces.

The story was a favorite of Serena's so she knew it well, but even after all these years it was disconcerting to think it had actually happened, especially the part about the king ruthlessly killing any man who tried to solve the mystery but failed, until, of course, the true hero came along. The ending was not very happy at all. In the end, a poor soldier solved the mystery and married the eldest daughter; the history books stated this as fact. What they left out was that, unlike with other fairy stories, it seemed quite clear that the soldier didn't love the eldest daughter, as she did not love him, but rather it was a marriage of convenience and economy. Hardly like a fairy tale.

Serena wondered if the tale was now repeating itself—in part, at least—for this very reason. Was it her job to ensure the tale had a happier ending?

Of course, the happiest ending she could see would be to retrieve the missing princesses and protect them, before anything truly tragic could happen.

Serena's head was aching and her eyes were tired when she finally put the books away and retreated back into the corridors, not much wiser than before.

On her way back to her guest suite, she passed by a door that stopped her heart. A wrenching pain stabbed through her gut, nearly knocking her over.

It was the door to the castle's weapons room, and beyond that, the northwestern tower.

The very room where Endymion had died.

In her arms. Reviving her. Rescuing her.

She stumbled away from it. But her heart was an anchor in her chest and would not let her flee.

Slowly, she forced herself to approach the door and push her way in.

The last time she had seen the weapons room, it had been ravished by the intruding thorny vines under Beryl's sorcery. The vines were gone now and what weaponry that could be restored was once again displayed like fine art across the walls—jewel-embedded swords, silver-engraved shields, bows carved from the blackest wood and polished to a near-mirror finish.

The curtain that had once surrounded the room was gone. Of course, the original draperies had been ripped to shreds by the thorns, but Serena was startled to see that they had not been replaced. Perhaps there was no use. The curtain had initially been meant to hide the door to the northwestern tower, because that was where the spinning wheel was kept. The spinning wheel that was, of course, said to one day bring about the curse of Briar Rose, who would prick her finger and fall into a deep sleep.

But as all this had come to pass when Serena herself fulfilled the curse, perhaps it was no longer necessary to hide it.

Legs unsteady, Serena approached the stairwell's open doorway. Her eyes were already stinging with unshed tears. Her heart was chained and bound beneath her sternum. She ached in every nerve, every bone, every joint.

But she climbed the stairs anyway, struggling to take in her breaths. Past the tiny slit of a window that looked down into the castle gardens, where she could hear the rain still coming down in a steady drizzle. Past the unlit candles on the stone walls.

The wooden door at the top was closed. She opened it before she could think to turn back.

The vines had been cleared from the tower as well, along with the piles of straw that had once been used by Rumpeltilskin to spin into gold.

Only the spinning wheel remained, innocently pushed up against a far wall, its single silver needle gleaming in the afternoon sunlight.

Serena wet her lips and stared at the floor. She thought she could see a dark spot on the bare stone, the lingering stain of blood that could never wash away, but maybe it was only her imagination and a trick of the shadows.

With a sigh, she stepped into the room and sunk to the cold floor, no longer able or willing to avoid the memories. Hot tears slipping down her cheeks, she settled her head against the stone and remembered the circle of his arms, the warmth of his blood around her, the steady beating of his heart until it slowly, slowly stopped.

Her silent, peaceful tears turned to agonized sobs as she wrapped herself into the bare arms of the tower.

The slow, empty progression of life was interrupted some time later by a whispered breeze through the tendrils of Serena's hair, followed by a small voice.

"Mistress, mistress, do not cry."

Serena peeled her blotchy face from the cradle of her arms and looked around. Her eyes settled on a floating, glittering figure just before her. A fairy. Six inches tall, with silvery hair that fell to her ankles and blue-tinged dragonfly wings that sparkled as they kept her hovering in mid-air.

Serena gaped at her. "Who are you?"

"I'm your fairy godmother," the fairy said.

"Fairy godmother?"

"Yes. Didn't you know that all good little girls get a fairy godmother, to help their dreams come true?"

Serena sat up straighter and rubbed at her stinging eyes. "You're mistaken," she said. "I'm a Guardian. I don't . . . I can't have a fairy godmother."

"But you are also a princess."

"No. I'm not."

"Is your mother not a queen? Is your father not a king?" The fairy was smiling very gently, as if speaking to a child.

"Well, yes, but—"

"So you are a princess. And what a pretty heart you have."

Serena blinked. "A pretty heart?"

"But I see you protect it so well. . . . That will make my job more difficult." The fairy hummed to herself and spun around a few times, inspecting the room.

"This is where those bars were erected, isn't it?"

"Excuse me?"

"The bars around your heart."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I can feel the energy in this room." The fairy closed her eyes. "A deep sleep . . . a kiss . . . blood. So much blood." She hesitated, cocking her head to one side. "And then a sad little girl, crying. A broken heart. Ah . . . not just broken. Shattered. Unfixable." A cruel smile crept over her pale lips. "Don't worry, princess. I think I can fix it."

Serena shuddered. "Who are you?"

The fairy opened her bright eyes, smiled, and then there was an explosion of black smoke and in her place was a man. He was dressed all in white and silver, his silvery-white hair worn to his shoulders, and his eyes like rhinestones looking down at her. Like diamonds.

Serena cried out and shrank away from him.

"Who am I?" he asked, with laughter in his tone. "Why, my darling, I can be whoever you wish me to be. I can be your fairy godmother. I can be your protector. Or . . ." He leaned down so that Serena, frozen, could feel his breath upon her lips. "I could be the troll beneath the bridge, the wolf in grandmother's bed, the dragon in the tower."

Serena tried to slink away from him, but her limbs felt weak—shuddering and shaking—and a hand placed firmly to her sternum held her captivated.

"I have never known a heart quite like yours," the man said. "So strong. So steady. And your blood, so warm and sweet. It will be such a pleasure to steal it from you. But you have it locked up so very tight. Tighter even than that pesky elf girl. However will I be able to take it under these conditions?"

Then he snapped his fingers and stood up tall, allowing Serena a moment to breathe. She could barely hear him anymore; her thoughts were already scrambling for a means of escape, of protection. But he blocked the door, and the spinning wheel, the only other object in the room, hardly seemed like a viable weapon.

"I have just the thing," said the man. "And I think you may even enjoy this little game, dear Guardian. I think you will see it as me . . . doing you a favor."

His lips curled again, his eyes darkening in the shadows, and then there was another puff of black smoke. And he was gone.

* * *

please review.

* * *

**Announcing the Form Poetry Writing Contest!**

In honor of April being National Poetry Month, I'm encouraging my readers to try their hand at writing form poetry!

You can write any type of form poetry (haiku, sonnet, villanelle, limerick... pretty much anything but free verse). They can be on any theme or subject (they do not have to be about Sailor Moon, but they can be if you want). They can be funny, sad, romantic, or angsty—it's up to you.

I will post all entries on my blog and maybe a future newsletter (assuming there's enough interest), and we'll hold a vote for the best poem(s) of the bunch.

**Deadline:** Thursday, April 30

**Prizes:** The winner(s) will receive a signed copy of my book of poetry Every Day Will Come (ironically all free verse) and… maybe a banner or an icon or something. I haven't given it all that much thought yet—but I will.

Submit your poems through my email or web site (both available on my profile page). Be sure to mention poetry in the subject line, and include your name and the poetry form you chose.

Have fun and good luck!


	4. The Underground Castle

Don't forget to sign up for my **newsletter**! The feature article coming up on May 1: How to create a believable fantasy world from scratch. Sign up at aliciablade dot com.

Only four more days to enter the **Form Poetry Contest**! More info after the chapter.

Many thanks to this fic's beta, **KaitlynFall**, for her dedicated and thorough advice!

Enjoy!

Return to Aysel: Another Grimm Tale  
Alicia Blade

Chapter 4: The Underground Castle_  
They went on and came to a great lake whereon stood twelve  
little boats, and in every boat sat a handsome prince._  
from The Twelve Dancing Princesses

Serena hovered at Mina's bedside, her brow drawn with worry. She had hardly stopped trembling from her encounter with the man—the evil sorcerer, as she was calling him in her head—though the day was ending quickly. She needed to retrieve her courage. She needed to focus. Mina needed her. Her mom needed her.

She sucked in a deep breath and took Mina's hand. "How are you feeling?"

Mina turned her head to peer up at Serena through her dark, lidded eyes. "Tired."

Malachite, in his nightshirt once again, hovered in the doorway that separated their bedroom from their daughter's, who he had just finished tucking in.

"Where will you be?" asked the prince, casting his eyes around the room.

"Right where you are now," said Serena.

Malachite nodded. "I'll be sleeping with my sword. If I see anyone, I'm going to kill them."

"Just make sure it isn't me you're about to kill first, all right?" She'd meant it to be a joke, but found there wasn't much humor in her voice after all.

"Serena," said Mina, "what do you think is going to happen?"

"I'm not sure. I think . . . I think someone is going to try and abduct you."

"But from my own bedroom? With my husband at my side, with guards posted just outside the door, with a three-story drop from the window?"

"I can't explain it yet, Mina. I'm hoping to have a better idea of what's happening after tonight."

"They won't succeed, will they, Serena? You won't let Mina get taken like—" Malachite's voice broke.

"I'm going to try my best. But without knowing exactly what we're up against . . ." She shuddered, remembering the man's cruel smile, and fingered the hunting knife that hung at her waist. She hadn't told anyone that she had seen him, that he had been in this very castle, that he had the power to be wherever he liked, when he liked. She needed to know what she was up against before she put everyone on guard.

Besides, he could have killed her, and he hadn't. He could have killed Nephlite or Artemis or Malachite, and he hadn't. Serena needed to know what he was after, then she would sound the alarm.

"It's late. You should try to sleep," she said.

"Gladly," Mina murmured, grateful to close her eyes again.

"You too, Malachite."

"I will not be able to."

"Then you should pretend. Whatever's going to happen, we _want _it to happen. We need to know what happened to Luna and Lita."

Malachite inhaled a slow breath and approached the bed. He kissed his wife's forhead. She smiled a bit, but it seemed that she had already fallen fast asleep.

Serena waited for the prince to slip beneath the covers and make himself comfortable with one arm draped around Mina's waist—his sword snuggled between them. She could tell that he didn't fall asleep—there was an unnatural rigidity to his body—but that was good enough for her. Slipping into the smaller bedroom, she crowded in close to the wall, able to peer out just enough to see the motionless couple. She looked back into the nursery and could make out Cytherea's sleeping form, although she was partially hidden by a sheer pink curtain that surrounded her bed.

Then Serena waited.

The night dragged on impossibly slow. It didn't take long for Serena's body to start aching from her immobility. Her feet, unfamiliar to the suede boots, felt cramped through the toes and tired in the soles. Her legs swooned from time to time and she had to shift her weight every few minutes to gain relief. She realized that she was tired. The excitement of her return to Aysel had already dwindled and the adrenaline had deserted her, leaving her with a foggy, sleep-deprived brain and heavy eyelids.

And still the night crept by. The moon rose slowly outside the window, drenching the bedrooms in a hazy silver light. The day's stormy weather had left the town below wet and glistening, but the late summer heat made the air in the castle uncomfortably humid. Serena began to wonder if she wouldn't have been more comfortable in a lightweight dress after all. The castle was silent, though she could imagine Amy and Zoicite only a couple rooms down, equally unable to sleep, and Artemis, worried and fretting, down the hallway in the other direction. Occasional footsteps thudded beyond the library room and Serena pictured the guards making their rounds through the castle.

She could not tell if Malachite was still awake or not.

She was just beginning to doze on her feet, head propped against the wall, when she heard something stirring. She cast her eyes out into the master bedroom again but saw nothing. But the sound repeated and she spun to see—surprisingly—little Cytherea sitting up. The girl rubbed at her sleepy eyes and looked around. Serena held still, plastering herself to the wall, but Cytherea did not seem to see her. It was not a moment more before Mina also began to stir. Serena turned her head just as Mina grasped her husband's wrist and moved his arm off of her.

He was sleeping after all.

Cytherea stood up and tottered awkwardly into the master bedroom, passing mere inches from Serena, but blind to her presence.

Seeing her daughter appear, Mina placed a finger to her lips for silence, although it seemed Cytherea needed no prompting. The child went straight to the armoire and produced two pairs of dancing shoes—one for herself and one for her mother. New ones, not those that had been ruined the night before.

The two princesses changed out of their nightgowns. Mina laced herself into a gorgeous white ball gown—layers of satin and tulle shuffled together when she moved. She put Cytherea in a pale pink lace dress with a yellow satin bow about the waist.

Holding hands, the two princesses neared the vanity—to admire themselves, Serena suspected at first, but instead of pausing to preen before the mirror, Mina reached out to touch the glass—and her hand disappeared into it. Serena gaped, watching as the liquid glass rippled from the touch and accepted Mina's arm, elbow, shoulder. She held onto her daughter's hand the whole time and when Mina had climbed up onto the top of her vanity and stepped through, Cytherea followed close behind and was swallowed up just the same.

Serena forced herself to desert the safety of the small bedroom and follow them. She gripped the knife at her belt and climbed onto the vanity. Her terrified reflection looked back at her. She held out her hand and the reflection followed. She pushed her way through the surface.

It felt like touching the surface of a lake. The glass was cool and refreshing from the room's uncomfortable heat and Serena felt her hand dry on the other side as she flexed her fingers.

Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes, and plunged on through.

She found herself standing at the top of a dark, winding staircase. Flickering candle sconces lined the walls, their shadows casting eerie shadows along the stone. In the distance, Serena could see Mina and Cytherea disappearing around a bend. She followed, as silently as she could, though her footsteps seemed obnoxiously loud to her own ears as she descended.

The stairs continued for what seemed like miles. Though it felt good to have movement in her legs again, Serena could think only of what awaited her—and the princesses—at the bottom. She held close to the jagged stone wall and proceeded slowly, no longer able to see Mina but afraid of drawing attention to herself if she went any faster.

Serena paused suddenly, thinking she heard the sound of waves below. Her hesitation was short-lived. Both glad and fearful to be reaching the base of the stairs, she quickened her pace. It was not much longer before she could see the base of the stairs disappearing into a mound of fine white sand, cast orange in the candlelight.

She crept slowly, slowly to the base, noting the two footprints in the sand of mother and daughter, and listening to the serene crashing of waves which soon came into view through the stairway's arched opening. Her eyes caught on movement, and Serena lingered on the stairs, holding her breath.

There was a small rowboat tied to a single tiny pier on the edge of the lake that swayed and rocked in the water. There was a girl sitting in the boat, but Serena could not make out any features other than long pale hair.

And standing beside the boat, silently watching the approach of the two princesses, stood the strange man. Serena reeled back at the sight of him—pale face, haughty smile, silver eyes. But Mina and Cytherea did not hesitate in their approach toward him. He held out a hand to Mina when she was close enough. His smile was pure evil, yet Mina placed her tiny, white hand into his and allowed him to assist her into the gently rocking boat. The man then stooped and lifted the toddler princess around the waist—the small, precious girl did not bat an eye. In fact, from her vantage point, Serena thought she even heard the child giggle when he lifted her.

With both princesses at the bow, the man climbed in after them. The third girl was still as stone, staring out over the water, ignoring Mina and Cytherea and their kidnapper as he picked up two oars and began to row them across the lake.

Serena crept down the last steps and reached the powdery sand below.

Her heart nearly stopped when she looked out toward the lake from the base of the stairs and saw the castle for the first time.

The massive, looming structure looked to Serena like it was made from gold and rhinestones, or perhaps it was a sand castle made of the glistening white sand and glowing orange from the hundreds of thousands of flickering torches that lined the enormous lake. The castle's reflection in the water was like an illusion, an oasis, shimmering and flickering before one's eyes. It was pure elegance, pure magic—as striking and as inconsistent as a sunset.

Serena lingered by the opening of the cave, watching the small boat as it glided across the crystalline waters. When it was little more than half way between the shore and the castle, the man paused in his rowing and stood. The boat rocked beneath his feet as he peered over the edge, waiting. Serena hugged the wall of her protective cave, wondering what the man could possibly be doing, when she saw a series of small ripples in the water just off the side of the boat.

A moment later, the man reached one hand into the lake. When he pulled it out, he was gripping the arm of a woman. He pulled her fully out of the water in one fluid, easy movement.

Petite, frail form; skin that shifted from snowy white to sage green to coral pink, depending on how the light caught her; dripping hair that flowed past her waist, as black as a raven's wing; and . . .

Serena sucked in a breath as a silver, scale-covered tail emerged from the water.

The man held the mermaid in both arms and lowered her fin toward the boat. The moment it touched the wooden floor, it separated into two perfectly formed human legs. The girl was naked, her entire body glittering in the candlelight as if she was faceted from head to toe with mother-of-pearl. The man set her down on the boat's floor, at Mina's feet, as if the girl's human legs were too weak to allow her to stand. Then he reseated himself and picked up his oars and finished the journey to the castle at the center of the lake.

Once the small boat had docked, the man led his captives inside—carrying the mermaid in both arms while Mina and Cytherea, still holding hands, followed behind them. Only then did Serena find the courage to approach the water's edge. The rope that had previously tied the boat to the shore floated in the surf, edges frayed. The small wooden pole that had served as an anchor in the sand was growing moss on one side.

Serena wondered how long this castle, and this boat, and its owner, had existed down here, far beneath the earth.

She paced along the shore, uncertain what to do. There were clearly no other boats, and she could see that the castle was surrounded by the water on all sides. To swim, she thought, would be suicide. Not only did she run the risk of unknown sea creatures (giant serpents and underwater dragons not only seemed possible, but even likely, in an enchanted, underground, fairy-tale lake), but she also would have nothing to do once she got to the castle but sneak inside.

And then what? Confront the sorcerer with her silly hunter's knife and sharp tongue? Or try and find Mina and Cytherea alone and convince them to follow her home? This hardly seemed plausible, given their willingness to be taken by the man. Serena could not fault Mina for this behavior. She was certain it was some sort of magic spell, some sort of brainwashing, and believed that Mina didn't have any control over her actions. But regardless of Mina's true state of mind, Serena did not think she could seek assistance from her in their mutual escape.

With an infuriated sigh, Serena collapsed onto the sand and folded her arms over her knees and glared at nothing. Had the sun come up yet? Was daylight breaking? Had Malachite awoken to find his wife and daughter—and Guardian—missing, possibly gone for good? And which of Aysel's princesses would be next?

Serena hated this feeling of helplessness. She tried to concoct a plan for when the man returned with his prisoners, but could think of nothing.

With a groan, she rubbed vigorously at her eyes, then steepled her fingers before her lips and tried again to think of a solution—any solution—but instead, her gaze caught on something small and shining at the edge of the water. She stood and went to it, her heart leaping into her throat when she saw what it was.

With trembling fingers, she stooped to pick up her mother's small golden locket. She fingered the clasp, opening the shell to reveal the unharmed picture of Serena smiling out from the small right frame—the one worn closest to the heart—and, on the left, the tiny picture of her, Darien, and Melvin. Her arms were around the two boys. Melvin looked uncomfortable. Darien looked as though his cheeks may have been pinker than usual. But they were all smiling. So joyful. So carefree. So _young_. Though the picture had been taken just over a year ago, it felt like ages ago. It seemed like it had been a simpler, sweeter time; a time for adolescence, a time when she was still trying to live a normal life and believed it may still be possible.

Her mother, she recalled, had taken the picture herself.

Her heart throbbed as she closed the locket. The clasp on the thin chain was broken, so she slipped it instead into the pocket of her pants.

A sound brought her attention back toward the castle—still swaying and shimmering in the golden halo of light—and she saw the sorcerer emerging. Two girls walked at his side. At first she saw blonde hair and thought Mina was one, but quickly realized that it was actually the other girl that had already been in the boat. And the other was the mermaid, walking with agonizing slowness. Even from the far distance, Serena could see the grimace of pain on the girl's face with every step she took, as if knives were piercing her legs.

Pity overcame Serena as she hurried back toward the stairway and hid within its shadows, and then fear and worry filled her as well. For, as the man helped the girls into the boat and climbed in himself, Serena realized that Mina and Cytherea would not be returning with him. They were trapped in that castle, and Serena had no doubt that the other princesses—and her mother—were trapped within as well.

Possibly dead.

When the sorcerer had rowed them halfway toward the land, he again stopped and cradled the mermaid against his chest. She hung limply against him, half-unconscious. But as soon as the man held her out over the water and dipped her toes into its cool depths, her legs reattached themselves and became the metallic silver tail once more. Rejuvenated, the mermaid slipped nimbly from his arms and dove down into the shimmering depths.

The man sat down in the boat and continued rowing. Serena braced herself in the shadows of the cave, staring hard at the girl, wondering if she knew her, but she did not seem familiar. She could tell that the girl was petite, but not a child. She seemed pretty, but Serena could make out no distinct features of her face. She could tell, though, that the girl did not make eye-contact with the sorcerer. Not once.

When she dared not linger any longer, fearful of discovery, Serena turned and took to the long climb up the stairway.

Only six princesses had been taken so far, which still left six more for her to track and rescue. For her to follow. For her to use in order to reach that castle and save . . . everyone.

She did not know this blonde girl or where to find her.

But how hard could it be to track down a mermaid?

When Serena emerged from the mirror atop Mina's vanity, she became instantly aware of the obnoxious pounding on the door beyond the parlor rooms. Malachite was still sleeping soundly in the large, solitary bed, and Serena did not waste her time bothering to wake him, knowing that the undisturbed sleep must be a part of the sorcerer's spell and was bound to wear off soon enough.

"I'm coming!" she yelled, climbing down off the vanity. The ruckus stopped long enough for Serena to make her way through the prince and princess's quarters and open the door. On the other side stood the rest of the royal family, the worry and panic on their faces falling into relief when they saw Serena before them.

"Serena, thank goodness!" said Amy, clasping a hand to her heart. "The door was locked again, and the sun has been up for over an hour. We didn't know what had become of you."

"Malachite is still sleeping, though I suspect he'll be waking soon."

"And Mina?"

Serena cast her eyes to the tiled corridor floor. "Both Mina and Cytherea are gone." Unable to stand the shocked silence that followed, Serena turned to Amy. "When I was here before, I was told that there are no longer any merpeople. That they had . . . had turned to foam upon the water, when the storytellers' power began to fade. Do you remember that?"

Amy shrugged half-heartedly. "I don't remember that conversation, I must admit, but it is the truth."

"Are you sure? You're sure there aren't any merpeople in Aysel, or any of the other kingdoms?"

"The merfolk have not been seen or heard from in hundreds of years," said Nephlite. "It is said that there was a time that they were very social, when they frequently came to the surface and talked with fishermen and sailors. But then, one day, a school of fish came to the surface instead and said that the merfolk had, as you said, turned to foam upon the water. And they've not been seen since."

"But it's possible they still exist, right? Maybe . . . maybe they're just hiding in the water? Perhaps they could tell that the world was changing and they thought it best to retreat away from humanity?"

"I cannot say it is impossible, Lady Serena, but I think it unlikely."

"Why?" asked Amy. "What does it matter?"

"Because it seems that the man who has been kidnapping the princesses has found himself a mermaid princess as well. I must go to them, if it isn't too late. . . . Where did they use to live?"

"Cerulean Lake, less than a day's ride to the southwest," said Zoicite. "But, Lady Serena, you cannot mean to leave us so soon? And in the midst of such danger?"

Serena shut the door to Malachite's chambers and began heading for her own guestroom. "I have to. I am the Guardian of all of this land, not just Aysel."

"But what if—what about Amy?"

Forced to pause at the heart-wrenching tone in Zoicite's voice, Serena looked at the prince and then his pregnant wife.

"Are you able to ride a horse in your condition?"

Amy's eyes widened as she looked down at her belly. "I think I could."

Zoicite had gone pale, but he slowly nodded. "We will choose the gentlest horse, and we will have to ride slowly. The terrain is not difficult."

"Good," said Serena. "I don't want to let any more princesses out of my sight if I don't have to."

* * *

"Do you think we should split up? Maybe we should split up. I can take the kitchen?"

Darien nodded, his eyes glued to the top of the staircase. "Fine, Melvin, you take the kitchen."

"And then maybe the backyard? If I were her, I would probably be in the backyard."

"All right. You check the backyard, too."

Leaving Melvin behind, Darien took the stairs two at a time. The door to Serena's bedroom stood open, but there was no answer when he called her name.

The overhead light had been left on, something Serena was usually conscientious about. The bed was unmade, which was not rare in itself, but Darien couldn't help feeling that her pink and yellow comforter was even more disheveled than usual. Everything was in boxes, except for some clothes laid out on the chair of her vanity.

"Serena, where are you?" he said, fingering the worn cotton of one of her favorite T-shirts. Neither he nor Melvin had heard from her all the day before. They'd stopped by and knocked on the door—Melvin always insisted on politeness though Darien didn't really see the point—but she hadn't answered, so they figured she was out. He had called her multiple times. It was unlike her to just disappear like that, but he'd thought maybe she was upset about her mom, and nervous about starting classes, and just wanted some time to herself.

A day alone, fine. He could handle that.

But they'd decided to meet them at Melvin's house, right next door, over two hours ago. They were going to drive over to their new apartment together and spend the day unpacking. While it was normal for the girl to be tardy to any appointment, it was certainly not normal for her to not show up at all.

And Darien couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. In fact, since he'd woken up yesterday morning he'd felt like something was . . . _missing._

His eye caught on something that glittered on the floor. Stooping, he lifted a corner of the blanket that cascaded to the carpet and spotted a beaten antique mirror beneath the bed. He pulled it out and scanned the splintering wood of the frame and the discolored, warping glass, and wondered why it wasn't in a box like everything else.

And then he wondered why he couldn't remember ever seeing it before. Was it something Serena had had hidden away in a closet? But then, why was it here, now?

He shook his head. It was just a dingy old mirror. It didn't mean anything.

He heard footsteps pounding on the stairs and turned to the doorway to greet Melvin—perhaps he had found some sign of Serena, or maybe it was the girl herself?—when an old man burst into the bedroom.

He spotted Darien and yelped, drawing back and bracing himself against the frame of the doorway. Darien guessed he was in his seventies, if not older, with wild gray hair that was in need of a comb and a cut, and deep wrinkles between his eyebrows that told of many worries in his long life. He wore brown slacks that were too short on him, held up with green suspenders, a plain white shirt that had five small buttons by the neck, and a single monocle dangling from his ear.

The man's small dark eyes darted down to the mirror and he held out a trembling finger. "Put that down."

Darien clutched the mirror tighter. "Who are you?"

"That is none of your concern. Put that down—it does not belong to you."

"It is too my concern. This is not your home and I demand to know what you're doing here."

"It is not your home either, young man."

"It's the home of my best friend."

The old man furrowed his brow and slowly drew the monocle up to one eye. Surprise registered on his face and he once again fell back against the doorframe. "A-ah, yes. You must be Darien."

"I am."

The man nodded, slowly. "She told me you looked like Endymion, but I didn't think . . ."

"How do you know my name? And who's Endymion?"

"No, never mind. Please, give me the mirror. I am only here for the mirror."

"Not until you tell me who you are and what you're doing in Serena's house. And . . . and do you know where she is?" The man's gaze shifted uncomfortably to the stack of boxes behind Darien. "You do know! Tell me!"

"No, no. I cannot. You do not understand. . . . It would be impossible."

With a growl, Darien tossed the mirror onto the bed and lunged for the man, grabbing him by his suspenders and hoisting him against the door jam. "Tell me where she is."

"Oh, oh please." The man squeezed his eyes shut. "I can't say . . . I can't . . ."

"You can, and you will."

"But . . . but she isn't here!"

"I can see that she isn't here." He shook the man, more from frustration than anger. "That's why I'm asking you where she is."

"Aysel. She is in Aysel."

"Where the hell is Aysel?"

"You will not believe me. She wouldn't have told you . . ."

"Stop babbling nonsense and tell me where this . . . this Aysel is. Is it a city? A street? A . . . a store?"

The man shook his head, eyes squeezed tight and lips squeezed even tighter.

"Tell me where she is!"

A low meow interrupted Darien's tirade. Without releasing the man, he turned to see Serena's cat come meandering out from underneath the bed. The cat paused when he saw the two men and sat back on his haunches and began cleaning one of his pure white paws.

"Oh, Puss in Boots!" the man said. Darien directed a sideways, suspicious glance at him and wondered if it was possible for this man to be dangerous, an enemy to Serena, and still know her cat's name.

He released the man's suspenders and stepped back. "Take me to her."

"I can't . . . I really can't!" The man looked up at Darien pleadingly and soothed the suspenders with both hands.

"Yes you can," Darien said, picking the mirror up from the bed and waving it in the air with one hand. The old man started, watching the glass flicker before him with an equal mixture of terror and desire. "And when you do, I will give this back to you."

"She's not in the backyard! I even checked the treeho . . ." Melvin trailed off, staring at the stranger openmouthed. He had a fiendish sense for confrontation and disliked drama more than he disliked tomato juice.

Darien tucked the mirror under one arm and cocked his head toward Melvin. "And he's coming too."

* * *

please review.

* * *

**Ends Thursday: The Form Poetry Writing Contest**

In honor of April being National Poetry Month, I'm encouraging my readers to try their hand at writing form poetry. You can write any type of form poetry (haiku, sonnet, villanelle, limerick... pretty much anything but free verse). They can be on any theme or subject (they do not have to be about Sailor Moon, but they can be if you want). They can be funny, sad, romantic, or angsty—it's up to you.

I will post all entries on my blog and maybe a future newsletter, and we'll hold a vote for the best poem(s) of the bunch.

**Deadline**: Thursday, April 30

**Prizes**: The winner(s) will receive a signed copy of my book of poetry Every Day Will Come (ironically all free verse) and… maybe a banner or an icon or something. I haven't given it all that much thought yet—but I will.

Submit your poems through my email or web site (both available on my profile page). Be sure to mention poetry in the subject line, and include your name and the poetry form you chose.

Have fun and good luck!


	5. The Frog Prince

A million thanks to **KaitlynFall** for betaing and giving me so many great ideas for this fic!

Return to Aysel: Another Grimm Tale  
Alicia Blade

Chapter 5: The Frog Prince_  
The frog answered, "I do not care for your pearls and jewels,  
nor for your golden crown, but if you will love me and let me be your  
companion . . . I will go down below, and bring you your golden ball."_  
from The Frog King

"Have we met before?"

Darien stared at the soldier before him, a boy he was certain was younger than himself, standing at the foot of a castle gate and gripping a six-foot-tall javelin.

"Um, no," he said, after a pause in which he almost felt like laughing. "I can guarantee we have never met."

The boy pursed his lips, trying to place Darien. "Are you with the Guardian?" He gestured with his non-javelin-holding hand. "Your clothes . . ."

"What's a Guardian?" said Melvin.

Darien interrupted. "We're here to see the king and queen. We have a message from . . . from Mr. Grimm."

The soldier's gaze brightened. "Yes, of course. Right this way."

And just like that, no questions asked, they were going into a castle. Evidently high-security was not a big deal around here.

As Darien and Melvin followed the soldier through the hallways of Aysel castle, Melvin was enraptured, gawking at the paintings and tapestries and ornate sconces as they passed. Darien was every bit as impressed, himself, but he was also flustered.

Fairy tales? Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm? Serena, a _princess?_

Darien felt dizzy, and it wasn't just from the topsy-turvy passage between worlds. He'd thought the man had been trying to trick them when he'd told them how to cross over "the gate," his own threshold. But he hadn't been lying. They were not on Thornrose Lane anymore. They were not on Mr. Grimm's porch anymore. They were not anywhere he had ever been or seen or known before.

And so, stomping down his own disbelief, Darien had taken off through the wheat fields that Mr. Grimm had described to them, Melvin at his side. They had found the dirt road and started off toward the right. He had thought, at first, that perhaps the old man had given them the wrong directions, when nothing appeared before them but more stalks of gold.

But then, suddenly, the dirt road had turned to cobblestones and in the not-so-far distance was a castle.

With tall towers and spires and arches that glowed in the late-morning sun, it looked like something that would have been in one of Serena's fairy-tale books. The thought made his heart ache a little, and he quickened their pace.

Jacob Grimm. Puss in Boots. Castles appearing out of nowhere. Serena—_a princess._

No wonder Darien couldn't keep his thoughts straight.

"Your Majesty," said the guard in a booming voice when he entered the throne room. "I present two travelers with a message from the storyteller."

Darien was momentarily distracted by the grandeur of the room. The white marble walls. The parquet tiled floor.

Then he heard a startled cry and noticed a man with long white hair gaping at him. He looked pale, as if he were seeing a ghost. He was sitting in one of the thrones and beside him, in the other throne, sat a younger man who resembled the first (the king and his son, Darien presumed)—the younger man also had long whitish hair, but he was broader in the shoulders. They shared the same astonished expressions.

Darien stared back at them.

"Endymion!"

Darien turned to the voice. It was another man, a younger man with wavy auburn hair flowing over his shoulders, who had just entered the room from a side doorway and now stood, stricken and wide-eyed.

Endymion. That name again.

Darien cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"How can this be?" the king asked, rising and approaching Darien in slow, uneven steps.

Darien shook his head before the man could descend from his platform.

"I am not—my name is Darien."

The man paused. Drew back.

The younger man with white hair was standing too now, his brow drawn. "Darien?"

"Yes. And this is my friend Melvin. I-We're friends of Serena. We were told we might find her here." There was a desperation in his voice that he couldn't control.

At his side, Melvin adjusted his glasses and leaned forward, not brave enough to actually approach the men. "Is she here, perchance?"

After an awkward, heavy moment, the brunette man regained mobility and approached them. "You've only just missed her," he said. His eyes were glued to Darien's face, studious and thoughtful. "She left not an hour hence." He tilted his head to the side. "The likeness is remarkable, but not exact. I recall her talking about you, when I first met her. She made the same mistake, only . . . she thought that Endymion was you."

"Serena?"

"Yes. Lady Serena."

_Lady _Serena.

"Is she . . . is she okay?"

"She is well. She went to find the merfolk."

Darien stared, uncomprehending. It was Melvin who had the gumption to ask, "Did you say 'merfolk'?"

"Yes. In Cerulean Lake." The man suddenly dipped his head. "I apologize for my rudeness. I am Prince Nephlite, and this is my father, King Artemis of Aysel, and my brother, Prince Malachite."

The other two men had come closer now, and while they nodded toward both Darien and Melvin, their eyes always came back to rest on Darien's face. It was unnerving.

"Can I ask who Endymion is?" said Darien. "This isn't the first time I've been mistaken for him."

Nephlite glanced at King Artemis, whose jaw flexed a moment, before he responded. "He was my youngest son."

_Was._

Another prince, then. A prince that looked like Darien.

Or was it Darien that looked like the prince?

He inhaled sharply, feeling suddenly that this whole conversation was a waste of time. "We're here to find Serena. Can you tell me how to get to her?"

"It is simple enough to get to Cerulean Lake. We can equip you with horses. If you ride fast you should be able to overtake them," said Malachite, then, frowning, added, "I presume that Lord Grimm sent you to find her?"

"Yes." It was partly a lie, but he didn't know how they would respond to Darien explaining that he hadn't given the man much of a choice.

"Is everything all right?" Prince Nephlite asked. "Has Lord Grimm discovered something new about the missing princesses?"

Missing princesses?

More whirling thoughts. More jumbled sentences.

When Darien didn't respond, Artemis laid a firm hand on his shoulder. "You needn't confide in us what Lord Grimm has sent to tell the Guardian. Only tell me what we can do to help you."

_Guardian? _

Darien briefly wondered if these people were even speaking the same language. He glanced at Melvin, but Melvin only shrugged back at him.

Darien turned back to the king. "I just want to find her."

* * *

The afternoon's warmth was dampened from the recent storm, and a chilled breeze continuously swept over Aysel's golden fields. Serena, Amy, and Zoicite kept their horses at a slow trot, determined to reach Cerulean Lake by nightfall and speak with the merfolk (if they still existed), and yet always concerned of jarring Amy and her child.

They followed the road to the west first, before veering off on a smaller dirt path that led southward. It was dotted with mud puddles, and the horses' hooves squished and sucked at the path. It took over an hour before they finally reached the shelter of a heavy wood on the horizon, and not a minute too soon as the summer sun finally cast off the chill and began beating upon their backs.

The forest was beautiful, but not as impressive as the forest near Cashlin, where Serena had once traveled, where she had met the dwarfs and Snow White. There, the trees had been massive, and impenetrable, and filled with shadows. They had a feeling of wildness about them, of enchantment. But here, to the south, the forest leaves hanging over them were smaller and lacier, casting slivers of light along the road. The forest here seemed more youthful, more innocent. But this did not make it any less magical.

The companions walked in silence. Serena followed behind Amy and Zoicite, allowing Amy to choose the pace and the prince to guide their way. She was glad for the time alone to think over her new discoveries regarding the twelve dancing princesses, and dwell on the mysteries that still loomed over her. She tried to think, to plan. She went over her trip to the underground lake a dozen times. She strained to remember every word the sorcerer had spoken in the castle tower. Pretty hearts and protective bars and so much blood and . . . hearts.

It always brought back the image of her mother in the mirror. Terrified and in pain, and then limp and unconscious. It always made Serena's blood go cold.

She dozed a bit here and there, her exhaustion from the sleepless night catching up with her, but the jolting of her horse always pulled her back.

With a sigh, she fished out her mother's locket. The gold was cool on her palm. It was slightly larger than a bottle cap, and much heavier. The outside of the locket was engraved with an ornate Celtic knot—or perhaps it had come from the world of Grimm and had no connection to the Celts whatsoever—and it had a tiny seed pearl in the very center. One of the most inexpensive gemstones, the pearl did not speak of royalty or riches, but it did speak of a strong sentimental attachment.

The pearl was Serena's birthstone.

She rubbed her thumb over the top, before gently opening the clasp and smiling down at the picture of her, Darien, and Melvin. Mostly she stared at Darien, her heart filled with a longing she hadn't known in a very long time. It seemed that since her first return from Aysel, since that first time when he had come to visit her after "the death of her grandmother," he had hardly ever left her side. Slowly, tenderly, and with the help of Melvin, of course, Darien had pulled her back out of her shell. He had made her, if not forget, then at least not _think_ about the tragedy that had befallen her. Some days she wouldn't think of it for hours at a time. And, as the weeks and months wore on, she had found herself thinking more and more of the next time she would see Darien's carefree smile and warm blue eyes.

Rather than the _last_ time she had seen Endymion's.

Emotion welled up in her throat.

Endymion.

She forced her imagination to say his name, rather than just grasping for a vague image of his handsome smile, or the hazy recollection of his sweet, nimble fingers on her skin.

_Endymion._

She felt his presence here—alive in the golden stalks of wheat, and the wind that caressed the treetops, and the impossibly blue sky that hovered over the land—protecting and watching. She heard his voice in the animal calls in the forest, his laughter in the burbling of a nearby river. She saw his face in the bark of the trees and in the sun-bleached walls of the castle and in the faces of his brothers—oh! did she see him in his brothers. The same chiseled features, the same crinkles at the corners of their eyes when they smiled. She felt him behind her, now, perched upon this very horse, his strong, warm arms cradling her to his chest, his jaw rested upon her shoulder.

And if he had really been there, she could have turned to him. Smiled at him. Held his hand. Kissed him one last time, one _first_ time, and told him the truth.

And then perhaps, just perhaps, this never-ending imprisonment would end. This constant aching, this regret, this emptiness in her chest. Perhaps his spirit would release her, finally, and let her live the rest of her normal-girl days in peace.

Her heart clenched as tears brimmed in her eyes.

_Endymion!_

Something buzzed in her ear. Serena cried out in surprise and dropped the locket in her rush to swat away the intruder. She heard a splash. The hornet hummed innocently and bolted into the woods as if nothing had happened. At least it hadn't stung her.

Serena reigned in her horse and turned herself in the saddle. There was a small pond off the road, fed from run-off from the river that rushed by just beyond a bank of trees, and she spotted a glimmer of gold among the pebbles at the bottom.

Serena cursed beneath her breath.

"Zoicite!" she called, as she dismounted her horse.

The prince and princess paused and turned to her.

"I've dropped something in that pond. I'm going to go fish it out, but you two keep going."

"Are you sure, m'lady?" asked Zoicite. "Would you like me to get it for you?"

Serena waved him away. "No, I've got it. Go on, I'll catch up."

She did not look back at her companions, not wanting to encourage them with some random glance to stay and help her. She longed for solitude. Her heart was still filled with pain. Visions of Endymion flashed before her one moment, only to be muddled and confused with visions of Darien the next. She wanted only the opportunity to sort them out in peace and quiet, cry over them a little bit, before she had to be brave and strong again. A Guardian, again.

The drop down to the pond was a mere four feet but it seemed higher to Serena as she climbed down off the road, grasping at the ferns in the cliff side to aid her descent.

She paused when she reached the bottom and looked at the locket again, lying below the crystalline surface, hidden partially from view by a lily pad. Finding a nearby stick, Serena shoved the lily pad away, sunk to her knees on the mossy ledge, and rolled up her sleeves. Inhaling a deep breath, she lowered her hand into the pond, enjoying the refreshing, cool water on her skin. She delved in to her shoulder, grasping the rocky edge with her supportive hand, and stretched out as far as she could.

Her fingers brushed against the chain. She reached just a bit more, just a bit . . . and knocked the locket off its perch into a deeper part of the pond.

With another curse, she withdrew her arm and glared at the locket. It suddenly occurred to her that it was almost certainly not waterproof, and if anything happened to that picture—

"Fine, you win," she muttered, flopping onto her behind and removing her shoes and stockings. But just as she rolled up the first pant leg, she saw movement in the pond. Her eye followed the ripples of the water and noticed the green frog that was busy kicking and paddling gracefully down toward the bottom. Making a straight shot for the locket. Eyes widening, Serena returned to a kneeling position upon the moss, both hands holding her over the edge, and watched the frog swim all the way to the bottom of the pond. He wrapped a forelimb around the locket's chain, turned, pushed himself off from the rock with his powerful legs, and within moments was bobbing at the surface right in front of Serena's face.

Smiling, it seemed.

He paddled the rest of the way to the edge of the water and clambered out onto the rock between Serena's hands and pushed the locket toward her.

She picked it up and mindlessly dried it on the hem of her linen shirt, eyes still glued to the waiting frog. Opening the latch, she glanced at the photographs. Water came dribbling out, and the edges of the pictures were wrinkled, but they would survive.

Returning the necklace to her pocket, she sat back on her heels and stared at the frog. Glossy black-and-yellow eyes stared back.

"Um . . . thank you?"

It took a small hop toward her.

She pointed a finger at her chest. "I'm sorry, but I'm not a princess. At least, not anymore."

It took another hop, this time landing on her knee.

"I mean, I can try, but . . . you know, I can't guarantee anything." When the frog made no other movements, just sat perched on her knee with its green feet tucked beneath it and its beady eyes peering up at her—was she just imagining the hope she saw there?—Serena sighed and scooped the frog into her hands. "All right then. But don't say I didn't warn you."

She closed her eyes and placed her lips firmly, yet gently, upon the frog's small wet head.

The weight of the frog disappeared completely from her hands. A cool, dark shadow fell over her.

Serena's eyes fluttered open, filled with disbelief. They were met with a pair of dark-brown trousers soaked up to the knees in the water. Her eyes traveled over muscular thighs, a black belt with a silver buckle and a sword tucked into a scabbard on the man's hip. A black cotton tunic corded at the neck with brown leather. Broad shoulders hung with a charcoal-gray cloak, the hem of it also soaking in the water.

And then . . .

She gaped, drinking in the stunned sapphire-blue eyes, the windswept, silky black hair, the prominent cheekbones, the barely-there dimple in his right cheek, the slender black eyebrows, the masculine line of his jaw.

Trembling, Serena collapsed backward onto her elbows. Her heart had stopped beating. She could not breathe. Could not feel. Could only see, and wonder.

"En . . . dymion?"

His captivating eyes dropped down to perform an analysis of his hands. As if doubting his existence as much as Serena doubted it, he flexed his fingers, then rubbed his palms along the front of his chest and tunic. His gaze continued down his legs and then paused to look at the reflection in the pool at his feet.

Those eyes—so familiar, and yet so not familiar, as if the years had stolen away her memory of the exact hue of his irises, or the precise curvature of his brow—returned to hers. Her heart thudded, almost painfully, when he held out a hand to her, and she reached up and took it. The warm fingers, as real and solid as herself, wrapped around hers and she felt herself being lifted to her feet. Her knees wobbled, but she could stand. Still gawking. Still trembling. Still thinking that he would vanish if she breathed too hard or moved too quickly.

His hand did not leave her once she was standing. On the mossy, pebble-covered ground, she was eye-level with him, as he still stood in the shallow pond. His other hand came forward to push a tendril of hair behind her ear. She shivered at the touch. She heard the burble of the water as he took a slow step toward her and then emerged upon the land. Nearly chest to chest, but now she had to crane her neck to maintain the eye contact that she was terrified to break. She noticed, distantly, that the aura over his head was storm-cloud gray.

And still his hand held her. His gaze held her. His very presence held her.

"Serena?"

The voice came from behind her.

Endymion's stare flickered away, looking up over her shoulder. The mesmerizing contact broken, she found the strength to turn toward the voice.

Darien. Darien was standing above them on the dirt road.

He was staring at the prince, his gaze filled with shock and confusion.

The forest floor spun and her knees gave way. She sank into Endymion's supportive arms. But she did not pass out, even though, at the moment, she felt unconsciousness would be a welcome change from the whirling, uncontrollable chaos in her head.

"Serena!" Darien rushed down from the road, jumping to the moss-covered rocks with a grace that would have impressed Serena at any other time. Then he was at her side, supporting her around the waist, pulling her away from Endymion. "Serena, are you all right?"

She blinked up at him, hands limply grasping the material of his plain gray T-shirt. He did not have an aura. Seeing a person without the signature aura of Aysel hanging over their heads was disconcerting—like he didn't quite belong.

"What are you doing here?" she managed.

"We came looking for you."

"We?"

No sooner had she said it than the clopping of horses was heard along with Melvin's nasally voice, yelling, "Darien, where did you go? Hello? Is anybody there?"

"Down here!" Darien called back, not removing his gaze from Serena, nor his arms. He even tried to smile. "I'm glad we found you. I was so worried, when you didn't show up—"

"Oh, there you are."

Serena glanced past Darien to see Melvin up on the road, holding the reigns of two brown mares. He pushed his coke-bottle glasses up on the bridge of his nose and passed his inspection from Darien to Serena to Endymion and back again. "Hey, Darien, it looks like you found your twin."

"Yeah, I noticed." Darien peered at the prince and slowly loosened his grip around Serena, perhaps comforted that Endymion had not pursued her once she'd been taken from him.

"Oh—I . . . Darien, this is . . . this is . . . En-dymion. Prince Endymion. Of Aysel."

"I'd guessed."

The prince said nothing.

"And this is Darien, and Melvin . . . they're from my world."

"It is . . . a pleasure." Serena felt a sting in her chest at hearing his voice for the first time in two years, and watched as Endymion held out a hand, and Darien took it. Their fingers clasped, knuckles whitening, and remained for a breath longer than Serena thought was necessary, before pulling apart.

"Here come two more people," said Melvin. The three horses, including the one that Serena had abandoned, whinnied and clopped their hooves, and it was not long before the sound of galloping reached their ears again.

"Come on, Sere, I'll help you back to the road," said Darien, gripping her hand and pulling her toward the small cliff. He climbed it with ease and turned to offer a hand, at the same time that Endymion grabbed her firmly about the waist with both hands and lifted her up to the top tier of stones. With their combined efforts, Serena had hardly any work to do at all, just allowed herself to be passed—still half-dazed—up to the road.

"Well!" called Amy when she and Zoicite were in hearing distance. "Leave it to Serena to discover a band of companions in the middle of a deserted forest."

Zoicite chuckled, but, as he approached, his smile faded to uncertainty, and then shock, and he pulled his horse to a stop. His gaze shifted between Darien and Endymion, before he alighted and drew his bow, knocking it with an arrow in one easy movement. "What is the meaning of this?"

Amy was not far behind him in the realization and gasped, one hand flying to her mouth. "Endymion?"

Serena shook her head and stepped in front of Darien. "This is Darien. He's a friend . . . from my world. The world of the storytellers."

Zoicite's gaze flickered over Darien, seemed contented that he was, in fact, not his dead brother, then darted to Endymion. "And this?"

Serena gulped and focused her uncertain stare on the frog prince. "I . . . I don't know. He was a frog, and I kissed him, and then he became . . ."

Endymion watched her, face expressionless. "Prince Endymion? Of Aysel?" It was formed in a question, just as it was in her thoughts.

"My brother died protecting our kingdom from Queen Beryl two years ago," Zoicite said, his voice stern and echoing off the trees. His arrow was aimed at Endymion's throat. "You are an imposter."

Serena's eyes widened as she waited for Endymion to reveal himself as the imposter that Zoicite accused him of being. Or for him to prove that he was, in fact, Endymion. _Her Endymion. _Which, strangely enough, made her no less anxious. Either way, the thought of not knowing tortured her, and this man, this prince, this stranger—who was more familiar to her than any person alive—did not settle her thoughts one way or another.

He held up his hands, showing Zoicite his palms, with an apologetic, saddened expression. "I am sorry. I do not know who I am."

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

"I . . . I seem to have no memory. Being in that pond, looking at this princess before me, seems as if it were the first moment of my life."

Furrowing his brow, and not daring to lower his weapon, Zoicite shifted his gaze to Serena. "How is this possible?"

It was a question posed not to Serena the girl, or Serena the friend, but to Serena the Guardian. Regardless, she had no answer. "I don't know," she confessed. "If I'd known there was a way to bring Endymion back to life, I would have done it long ago."

Zoicite worked his jaw back and forth, as if trying to dispel a bad taste from his mouth. "Any of us would have."

"But . . ." Her voice broke. "Just because I did not know it was possible . . . does not mean that it isn't . . ."

Returning to his analysis of the prince, Zoicite slowly lowered his weapon. "I will spare your life until we can prove, one way or another, if you are my brother or if you are a traitor."

"Your kindness is appreciated," said Endymion in an honest tone, though, if Serena knew Endymion at all, she recognized the undercurrent of sarcasm there. But the sarcasm disappeared when he turned an innocent smile to her. "And yours as well, my lady."

"Serena."

"Lady Serena." He took her hand again into his and bowed at the waist, pressing his lips against her knuckles. She felt Darien tense beside her. "Thank you for the kiss that awoke me."

Her insides were fluttering, but she forced them to harden. "Zoicite is right," she said. Endymion listed his head. That expression—she knew that expression. She knew the way those bangs fell into his eyes. And yet—

"Endymion is dead," she said, voice drying. She had to pause and collect herself before she could continue, and in that moment felt Endymion's grip tighten uncertainly on hers. "You cannot be Endymion, because I watched him die. Because . . . because he . . ."

"My lady," he murmured, and she believed his concern was real as he reached up his other hand to cover her fingers.

Tears filled her eyes, blurring him, but she was thinking of the sorcerer now. The man who could turn himself into a fairy. The man who tricked girls into thinking they danced with their husbands.

The frog that became her prince.

"I do not know who or what you are," she said, worried that the heartache would choke her if she did not finish her thoughts. "But if you are a traitor, if you are trying to trick us through such cruel means . . . there will not be mercy."

There were hands on her shoulders, pulling her away, and Endymion let her go. She turned away from him, swiping at her eyes with her sleeve. It was Zoicite who had disengaged them, and she heard him say, "She speaks the truth. While my kingdom does not thrive on violence, such treason would be punishable by death. Or worse. I would ensure it. "

There was silence for a long time while Serena steadied her breath. When finally Endymion spoke, his voice was so low that she barely caught his words.

"I am sorry to have made you cry."

Her stomach twisted. If he had forgotten his name, his family, his soul mate, he had not forgotten how to leave her unsure of anything and everything.

And then Amy spoke, and Serena loved her the more for it. "We're never going to make it to the merfolk tonight at this rate."

Darien immediately responded, "Serena can ride with me."

Serena could not argue, nor did she think she wanted to.

* * *

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	6. Merfolk

Thanks to all reviewers and to KaitlynFall for here awesome editing and betaing.

Enjoy!

Return to Aysel: Another Grimm Tale  
Alicia Blade

Chapter 6: Merfolk  
_In the deepest spot of all stands the castle of the Sea King._  
from The Little Mermaid

Serena swayed with the horse's stride, glad to let Darien control the reigns. She was fully drained—of strength, of energy, of coherent thought. Her emotions were all turmoil. While her body sat warm and protected in the circle of Darien's arms, her eyes were ever on the head of black hair on the path ahead of her.

She was glad that Darien's lack of experience with horseback riding kept them at the back of the group—even Melvin was keeping pace with Amy and Zoicite. But Serena had no desire to speak with anyone. She did not want to be asked questions about the sorcerer or the disappearing princesses. She did not want to ask questions about the merfolk or the history of the fairy-tale world. She did not want to think about her kidnapped friends, or even her mother.

She did not want to know anything about magic, or what could make Endymion's return possible. Or impossible.

She did not want to doubt.

But she had to. Every time a flicker of hope, a _what if this is real?_, entered her mind, she was forced to squash it.

Endymion was dead.

Endymion was never coming back.

She had spent two years coming to terms with these facts. Such certainty could not be so easily unraveled.

And yet—there he was. The same body, the same posture, the same expressions, the same yearning that spread throughout her entire being.

Besides, this _was_ a fairy tale, after all. Anything was possible in a fairy tale, wasn't it?

No. Not anything, she reminded herself. Especially not for a Guardian.

Plus, he did not remember her, or his brother, or his previous life. Which could mean one of two things: either the magic that had returned him to the land of the living required a sacrifice, and had taken his memories, or he was not Endymion, but rather an actor pretending to be Endymion.

But how to find out the truth? For there was no doubt about that—she _had_ to know the truth.

And if it _was_ Endymion—!

She clenched her teeth and crushed the hope yet again. She would not do this to herself. She would not imagine it was real when there was a shape-shifting, illusion-making sorcerer on the loose, one who had already claimed he wanted her very heart. Bringing Endymion back would be a pretty smart way of claiming that heart, so she had no reason to trust this man, really. It had the scent of a trap all over it.

Except, he actually smelled like pine trees and honey—just like Endymion.

"Serena?"

She started, though Darien had spoken so quietly.

"Are you all right?"

She cocked her head toward him. "Sure. Just . . . a little overwhelmed."

"Right. It seems like we arrived just when things were getting interesting."

She snorted to herself. He had no idea. "How did you get here, anyway?"

"Mr. Grimm brought us."

She glanced at him over her shoulder, noting the mischievous grin on his face. "And was that _his_ idea?"

"Not exactly. We bumped into each other in your bedroom and I threatened to break that old mirror if he didn't bring me to you. So he told us how to get to the castle, and there they gave us some horses."

"They just . . . trusted you?"

"Well, at first they seemed a little shocked, and mentioned that I looked like . . . well, him." He nodded at Endymion up the road. "But when I explained that I was from your world, they believed me. In fact, it seemed like maybe you'd . . . mentioned me to them before?" He cast a sideways look at her, almost hopeful.

Serena just blinked at him. She couldn't recall ever telling the royal family about Darien.

"Anyway," said Darien, his gaze dropping down to the road. "They'd made it seem like Endymion was dead."

"He was. I . . . he shouldn't be here. I don't know how this is possible." Her heart had sped up again and she could not keep her gaze from traveling back to Endymion. Like a mirage, tantalizing, tempting, but also surreal and fickle.

"So, why are you here?" said Darien. "The king said something about missing princesses?"

She nodded. "Six have been kidnapped so far."

"Six? How many princesses does that little town have?"

"Well . . . one was the queen, actually, and then a queen and a princess from Obelia, to the north." She hesitated, and considered telling Darien more, telling him that Obelia to the north was, in fact, where _she_ came from, that the queen from Obelia was her _mother,_ but convinced herself that might be information overload.

"And what's this about a Guardian?"

"Oh. That's me."

He waited, but after a still, quiet moment, she only shrugged. "It's a long story."

"Can you summarize?"

Serena sighed and found herself sinking closer against him, warmed by his touch. "I came here two years ago," she said. "At the time, Aysel and Obelia were being terrorized by evil Queen Beryl, from Cashlin, and her three henchman. Jacob—Mr. Grimm—gave me a bit of his magic, turning me into a Guardian, so that I would have the power to stop them and save Aysel. So that's why they call me the Guardian."

Another heavy silence.

"I know it's a lot to take in," she said.

"Yes," Darien said, slowly. "But it kind of makes sense, too."

"It does?"

"Sure. It explains why you're so into fairy tales, for one."

She laughed dryly.

"And also why you disappeared for three weeks at the start of our junior year and when you came back, you'd gone from the most chipper girl I'd ever seen, to the most miserable."

Her shoulders slumped, almost disappointed to think that after all this time of holding this secret tight against her heart, Darien had figured it all out so quickly. "You barely even knew me before then," she said. "How do you know I was so chipper?"

There was a hesitation, before he murmured, "I noticed you."

She turned to look at him, straining against her binding position upon the horse. "No you didn't."

"Yes I did."

"No, you didn't."

Darien blinked. "I think I would know better than you would."

"No . . . because I noticed _you. _I—" Her face flooded with heat.

"You what?" pressed Darien, leaning forward.

"Look, I didn't want to tell you this because I didn't want it to . . . to hinder our friendship."

"Nothing's going to hinder our friendship." He said this with such solid certainty that Serena had to believe him.

"All right," she said, "but I don't want you to tease me about this."

He grinned—a sure sign that he would probably tease her about it anyway, if he found it worth teasing her about.

With a deep breath, she lowered her eyes and whispered, "Before I met you . . . before I came _here,_ I kind of had . . . a really big crush on you." She tried to keep her voice light, like it was some simple, unimportant acknowledgment of fact. Nothing worth getting all worked-up about. Certainly nothing worth turning beet-red about, even though she could tell that was precisely the color of her cheeks. "And that's how I know that you never noticed me, because I know that if we were in the same room together—_ever—_then I was watching you, _hoping_ you would notice me. But you didn't."

She turned away from him and focused her attention on the acres and acres of trees blurring together on the side of the road.

"And something happened when you came here that changed that?"

Her heart tumbled; her eyes instinctively darted to Endymion's cloak.

"It's . . . complicated."

"You don't have to explain anything," Darien said, and she could not tell if the inflection of his voice was disappointment or compassion. "I think I've pretty much figured out what happened. And why you came home so sad. But . . . it looks like maybe things will work out better this time?"

She fidgeted with her sleeve, trying to will away the blush that would not fade.

Of course, Darien could be right. If Endymion really had returned, then there was a chance he would not leave her again. Would not abandon her. Would be with her, living happily ever after, forever.

But it was such a big _if._

Her gaze crept up to the aura hanging over Endymion's head. It had darkened slightly since Zoicite had threatened him. Darker than gray. Not quite black. Did it mean he was guilty after all? Or only that, although he was alive, without recalling any of his former life and love, he still was not fated for a happy ending?

Or, was it darkening because Serena sat in the arms of another man, her heart more divided and guilt-ridden than overjoyed.

"That's it there, through the trees." Zoicite's voice drew Serena out of her thoughts, and she squinted against the sun that was setting before them, reflecting off the placid surface of a lake beyond the forest shadows.

They emerged from the woods onto a rocky shore. The lake stretched to the horizon and beyond—Serena had no idea how big it was. From this shore it could have been an ocean. The setting sun threw a swath of fire down the center of the water. The twilight was warm, as the day had been hot, but a lingering breeze graced their faces as they tied up the horses and approached the water.

Darien, the first to speak, said, "So we're here to find a mermaid princess?"

Serena peered at him sideways, unable to figure out how much of the question was curious and how much skeptical. "Yes. Actually."

"We're not going to have to swim, are we?"

Serena thought about laying a comforting hand on his arm, knowing how much Darien loathed water, and swimming in particular, but something held her back. "I'm not sure. Zoicite? Amy?"

"In all the tales I've heard," answered the prince, "the merfolk came to the surface to greet fishermen and sailors. But, like I said before, it has been generations since anyone has seen—"

The torsos of two men came thrusting out of the lake, misting the travelers with a cool spray.

The group stared, dumbfounded, as the pair curled their silver fish's tails beneath them in the shallows and sat back upon them, swaying in the current. The mermen were glorious to look at, each with luminescent, mother-of-pearl skin that flickered and changed over their sculpted physiques. They had silky black hair that grew long and wild, dripping down their shoulders, and large black eyes, mystical and serious but also child-like in their roundness. They had identical gashes in the sides of their cheeks—perhaps gills?

But more stunning to Serena than any of this was the empty air above their heads, the absence of an aura. She realized with a jolt that these mermen did not have destinies. And, now that she thought about it, she could not recall seeing a destiny linked with the mermaid princess when the sorcerer had taken her, either.

How was that possible?

The mermen spoke, and their voices erased Serena's thoughts. They were operatic in nature, deep and melodious, full of vibratos and a lulling rhythm that created a longing in Serena's gut and a sleepiness in her mind, as if they were singing her a lullaby.

"You bring us a Guardian," the first spoke, his ebony eyes fixed upon Serena.

She stepped forward.

"Have you something to _guard_ here?"

It felt like a joke. It sounded like a joke. But the man's expression did not seem to come with a joke mode.

"I have come to see your princess. I fear she is in danger."

"You fear correctly. The sleep took her last night."

She blinked. "What do you know about the sleep?"

"We are only messengers," said the second merman. "We have come to deliver you to the king." He held up two fingers. "We can take only two of you."

Serena cast her eyes over the group, wondering who the most logical companion would be. In unison, Darien, Endymion, and Zoicite all stepped forward.

She frowned at Darien first. "Darien, you're afraid of water."

"I am not," he said, bristling.

She cast her eyes to Endymion, who shrugged. "I fear nothing, my lady."

"With all due respect, it is my mother and my niece and my sisters-in-law that are missing," said Zoicite, looking first at Serena, although his gaze soon slid to Endymion.

Endymion looked honestly hurt by the comment. "It is true I have no memory of these people," he murmured, "yet would they not be my family as well?"

"That's still to be determined," said Zoicite.

"Look," Darien said, taking another step toward Serena, "I'm not letting you out of my sight with these people. I'm coming with you."

"With what sword will you protect her?" said Zoicite.

"You will not bring weapons."

Serena turned back to the mermen.

"You will not require them, and their weight will make travel difficult. Please, make your decision quickly. The sun comes too close." Indeed, the sun was just kissing the horizon.

Darien brushed Serena's wrist on his way toward the lake. "I'm coming with her."

"Darien, are you sure?" she said, following him. "You're not trying to prove something to me, are you?"

"Please remove your cloak and boots."

"What would I be trying to prove?" he asked, kneeling to untie his tennis shoes while Serena unlatched the cloak on her shoulders.

"I don't know. That you're brave and strong and courageous, perhaps?"

Standing, he kicked off his shoes and grinned at her. "Are you saying I'm not?"

"I'm just saying . . ." She inched toward him, dropping her voice to a whisper. "You've never, ever liked water, for as long as I've known you. Do you even know how to swim?"

"I can doggy-paddle."

She glared, then tensed when he reached for her hand and turned his gaze to the merfolk. "How necessary will our swimming skills be down there?"

"We will guide you."

"See? They're going to guide us."

Serena sighed and pulled off the boots that Amy had loaned her just that morning. "Fine, but if you freak out down there, I will never let you hear the end of it."

She cast a look back at Endymion, thinking perhaps she should apologize, but his smile was warm upon her, as if saying, _Let him go. I have nothing to fear from him._

Her gaze quickly fell.

She and Darien waded into the water, where the mermen waited with outstretched hands.

"Once you are submerged, do not hold your breath—it will destroy your minds."

"Will we be able to breathe underwater?" said Serena.

"Of course not. You are human." Again, she wondered if the merman was attempting to make jokes. "But we will assist you."

She took his hand and noticed the webbing between his long fingers. His skin was tough, and yet soft at the same time, like worn leather. He entwined their fingers, and, without much warning, dove down into the water, dragging Serena along with him.

She held her breath—she could not help it—and watched the sunlight fade above them. They skimmed the shallow, weed-filled bed of the lake, before it suddenly plunged off to greater depths and Serena felt panic in her chest when she saw only blackness beneath them. She worried about Darien. Surely, if she was experiencing panic—she who had always been a good swimmer and had wanted to be a mermaid when she was growing up—then Darien must be feeling the panic ten times worse. She tried to turn her head to see him, but the merman tugged on her arm, capturing her attention.

"Release your breath."

Her eyes widened. His voice was perfectly clear, and even more beautiful, beneath the water. Realizing suddenly that she could drown here if the mermen decided they did not want to save her, she let out her breath. It drifted up to the surface in a burst of bubbles, leaving her hollow. Her lungs burned. Her heart clamped. What had she just done?

But then the merman clasped his webbed fingers to either side of his face and pressed his lips to hers.

She instinctively tried to push herself away, but stopped when the man did not close his eyes and she was mesmerized by their inky depths. A moment later, fresh, sweet-tasting air filled her mouth, and she sucked it down into her lungs. Then the man released her and they continued their descent. Serena turned to find Darien. He was closer behind them than she'd realized, his eyes round. Even . . . jealous.

And then the other merman, the one guiding Darien, paused. Turned to face Darien. Grasped his face as Serena's face had been grasped.

If she hadn't been so afraid of wasting air, she would have laughed at the horrified expression on Darien's face as the merman breathed into his mouth. It was over quickly and the merman grabbed Darien's elbow and continued down after Serena. She smiled at Darien, but he looked grumpily away.

The lake was deep, but the mermen swam fast and Darien only had to suffer through two breaths of air before they reached the bottom and saw the palace of the merfolk before them. It was built of vibrantly colored coral, seashells, stones of all shapes and sizes, and bundles of sunken driftwood tied with seaweed. Barnacles covered much of its surface. And it was glowing. Serena did not know what made it glow, but it emitted enough light that the whole castle looked like a giant sunken chandelier. There were no doors, but an opening near the base of the coral structure that was wider than all the other openings appeared to be the entrance.

Guarding the entrance was another merman and also a mermaid.

"This is the Guardian from the land kingdom," her guide said.

The mermaid nodded. "You are expected." Her voice was all whimsy and song—the voice of a siren—and Serena began to understand why the tale of the Little Mermaid placed so much emphasis on the mermaid's stolen voice.

Serena gasped suddenly—and choked on the water that flooded her lungs. Her guide wasted no time in grabbing her and covering her mouth with his own. He sucked at the water in her lungs and then filled her again with pure, delicious air. He forced her to take a few breaths, his firm, wet lips not leaving hers, one hand grasped her swimming hair. He did not release her until her heart rate had returned to normal and she could no longer feel the sting of water in her throat or the panic of drowning in her limbs.

"Have they completed the pocket?"

The mermaid nodded and smiled, with pity, Serena thought, at her and Darien. "Yes. You will be more comfortable in there. Go ahead."

As they passed, the mermaid stopped Darien and allowed him to take a breath from her lips this time, and Serena couldn't help but feel perturbed at how willingly, even gladly, Darien accepted the breath from _her._

She was being childish, she knew, and so she ignored those thoughts and recalled what had surprised her before, what had caused her idiotic gasp.

_The Little Mermaid. _Was it possible that this princess she was about to meet could be the same from the tale? Serena stored the question away for future reference. If she was, then it could be a clue to solving the mystery of the sorcerer and his underground castle.

At the center of the coral castle was the throne room. When Serena entered, she saw first a merman towering over the others in the center of the room. His arms rested on two tall podiums and his gigantic silver tail, which was easily twice as large as any other merperson's Serena had seen, was settled into the sand beneath the pillars, doubling as his own throne.

Around the room, there must have been thirty or forty mermen and mermaids, all smaller than their king, resting on their own pillars.

And, to the king's left, being held up not by podiums but by two beautiful maids, was the princess. Though all of the merfolk had the same luminescent skin, the same black hair and black eyes, the same silver tail, Serena recognized the princess immediately. Perhaps it was because of the exhaustion written over her face, or how it appeared that she did not have the strength to hold herself up on her own.

The two mermen guides moved to the side of the room and gestured for Serena and Darien to continue. Instinctively, she reached for his hand and they half-swam, half-bounced their way toward the king. Then—unexpectedly—the water disappeared around them and they both tumbled onto wet, squishy sand. Serena landed with an oomph upon her hands and knees, but her shock and surprise and irritation all dispensed with the realization that she could breathe. She and Darien sat up and looked around. It all looked the same. Perhaps a little lighter. And it felt as though the temperature had just dropped ten degrees, but the air was still and quiet and felt so, so good in her tired lungs.

Serena reached forward an arm and felt it pass the invisible barrier, saw her sleeve go from drooping and dripping to floating around in space.

"We have constructed an air pocket in preparation for your visit," said the king. "We understand that humans do not do well beneath the surface."

"Thank you," Serena said, turning to him. He looked young. No facial hair, not even a sign of wrinkles, and yet something in his countenance and the wisdom in his bottomless eyes told Serena that he was much older than he appeared. Perhaps even hundreds of years older. She did not know the lifespan of a merperson. Darien stood, his bare feet sticking in the mud, and offered her a hand.

"How did you know to expect us?" Serena asked.

"The birds told the fish and the fish told us," said the king.

Which was a simple, logical response, and yet so bizarre that Serena had to repeat the sentence a few times in her head to comprehend it.

"We must speak quickly, before the sleep comes again."

"All right." Serena said. She glanced at the princess, who was struggling not to doze off.

"I want to know everything that you know," said the king.

Wringing the water from her sleeves, Serena said, "Well . . . someone is kidnapping the royal women in the land . . . and, uh, water."

The king tilted his head back, regarding her with thoughtful eyes, but remained silent.

"Thus far, the kingdoms of Aysel and Obelia combined have lost four princesses and two queens. There's a pattern—they are exhausted during the days before their disappearance, and they have all complained of nightmares. Although, there was one exception. A little girl, two years old, was taken by the sorcerer last night. As far as I could tell it was her first night being taken, but she did not return." She swallowed the lump in her throat. "Also, the land princesses had shoes that had been danced to shreds during their excursions, but I don't think that's relevant here."

"Who is kidnapping them?" the king said.

"As far as I can tell . . . a sorcerer. I don't know much about him. He can take the form of a fairy . . . and it seems he tricks the princesses into thinking they are dancing with their husbands, but I don't know if he can take any other forms. And I don't know what other magic he might—"

"How does he manage to kidnap them? Do the land princesses not have protectors?"

"They have all, to this point, had husbands sleeping with them when the kidnappings occurred. Well, and the little girl, but I was there when she was taken. It seems they are brainwashed, somehow . . . or perhaps have a spell cast over them. And they travel, willingly, through a . . . a mirror." The king peered at her, looking skeptical. "Does your daughter have a mirror in her quarters?"

"Sirenetta?" The king turned to the princess, but it was one of her maids who answered for her.

"Her Highness does have a mirror in her room, Sire."

The king stroked his long, webbed fingers along his chin. "And what did you say about . . . dancing, was it?"

"Yes. When the princesses are kidnapped, they seem to be forced to dance with the sorcerer. All night."

"But my daughter could not dance." The king gestured at the princess's tail.

"Actually, uh, Your Majesty . . . when I followed one of the princesses through her mirror, I saw your daughter—Princess Sirenetta—come out of the water. The sorcerer was able to change her tail into legs. Human legs."

A murmur ran through the crowd. The king himself stiffened, sitting higher on his tail, his expression growing dark.

Serena shrunk away and felt Darien's hand on her elbow.

"My daughter, with human legs?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. That's what I saw."

The princess lifted her head that had fallen onto her maid's shoulder and turned to the king. "Father, reserve your temper."

His eyes flashed at her, his skin darkening, more blue and less pink. Was this their version of blushing? Or anger?

But the princess had already turned her heavy-lidded eyes away from her father and toward their guests. "Tell me, Guardian, how were you able to follow a princess without being a victim of the sorcerer yourself?"

"I waited in her room and when she woke up and walked through the mirror, I was able to follow."

"And you were not put to sleep?"

"No. I stayed awake."

"We always have guards posted within and without of my daughter's room," said the king. "This morning, the guards within the room were all found sleeping, and no one had heard a thing."

"That is similar to the stories of the land princesses."

"And you say their exhaustion seems to suggest their imminent disappearance?"

"It does seem connected."

"And what do you intend to do about this, Guardian?"

Having no immediate answer, Serena wrung her hands and answered, "I was hoping you might have some ideas."

"Did you travel into the sorcerer's castle?" asked Sirenetta in her chiming, enchanting voice.

"No. I couldn't go any farther than the shore."

"Then you have not seen what becomes of the princesses he steals?"

Serena pulled herself away from Darien's comforting grip and neared the boundary between air and water. "Not exactly, no. But I have seen . . . through a magic mirror . . . that the sorcerer is stealing their hearts."

Another concerned murmur ran through the crowd. Only Sirenetta looked unsurprised, as she nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, you are correct, Guardian. It is all quite vague, like a dream one wishes to forget. But, I remember that he did seem to take something from their chests, and what else could it be? And then, afterwards, I recall that the other girls all looked like storytellers."

"Storytellers?"

"Mmhmm," she said with a twist of her lithe fingers. "Trapped for all eternity within their beautiful glass coffins."

Serena gaped. "Glass coffins?"

"I could not tell, Guardian, if they were dead. Or merely sleeping. Tell me, do you intend to kill the sorcerer, Guardian from above?"

"If that's what it takes to save them."

"It will take more, I fear."

"What do you mean?"

Sirenetta groaned and slumped against her maid, pausing with eyes closed to gather her strength. A moment passed before she pointed her hand toward Serena. "Take me closer."

The maids swam the princess toward the pocket of air. She opened her eyes again, with much effort, and released the hold she'd taken around her maids' shoulders. Her slender arms reached out to Serena, the water beading and dripping from them when they burst into the air.

Serena took the princess's hands, holding the fragile, dainty fingers in her own. A compulsion to help the girl washed over her. The Guardian's power that always resided subtly within her womb seemed to awaken, rushing through her veins like lightning.

"The castle is magic," Sirenetta whispered.

"Magic?"

"Everything—the lake, the castle, the cave itself—is an enchantment. There is a spell there, stronger than any I have known. Far stronger than anything we mer can do. Should the sorcerer be at the center of the spell, then killing him may collapse the whole structure. It would destroy everything. Killing him would also kill those poor souls in their glass coffins."

* * *

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	7. The Book of Transformations

Huge thanks to KaitlynFall for betaing!

Return to Aysel: Another Grimm Tale  
Alicia Blade

Chapter 7: The Book of Transformations_  
"I have been assured," said the Cat, "that you have the gift of being  
able to change yourself into all sorts of creatures you have a mind to."_  
from Puss in Boots

Serena gaped at the mermaid princess who clutched her hands so tightly her fingertips were beginning to tingle. "You're saying that we can't kill the sorcerer?"

"But of course you can kill him," said Princess Sirenetta. "Only that doing so will destroy the enchanted castle, and should anyone be in it when it falls, they too will die."

Serena chewed her lower lip. This could complicate things a great deal. "You would die, too, if you are taken," she said.

"Yes, but I will only be a shell by that point. The land princesses have much more to lose."

Serena frowned, feeling as though she was staring into a bottomless abyss within the princess's ink-black eyes. "I don't understand."

Sirenetta's lips curled and there was a striking sadness in her gaze. "Don't you, Guardian? Surely you know why we mer have retreated to our lonesome depths for all these years?"

She dumbly shook her head. The thin fingers tightened around her own.

"I see. I will tell you. Hundreds of years ago, when the storytellers began to fall to their sickness, the magic in this land began to fail. You know this?"

"Yes," said Serena.

"When that happened, a part of the mer was destroyed. A part that the storytellers had bestowed upon us."

"Which part?"

"Our souls."

Serena furrowed her brow. "Your souls?"

"Yes. We are only shells, who move and speak, but when we die, we become nothing more than foam upon the water. You see, this is why the land princesses will lose much more than I will should the sorcerer kill them."

There was a horrible desperation about the girl. A whimsical desire deep within her ebony eyes. Her soulless eyes.

Serena realized, suddenly, that this was why the merfolk did not have auras hanging over their heads. Happiness or tragedy, it did not seem to matter to those without any ultimate fate at all.

Sirenetta released Serena's hands and grabbed the sides of her face instead, pulling her so close that the tip of Serena's nose touched the water. "When you enter the castle, there is a staircase, at the top of which is the ballroom. That is where we dance. To the right is where he keeps them—the coffins."

"Okay."

"You will not be able to follow me on this night. I could not help you breathe."

Serena started. "But—I have no one else to follow."

"There will be others."

That's what Serena was afraid of.

The mermaid princess released her and sunk with a moan into Serena's arms. Her maids moved forward to assist her, pulling her from Serena's grasp.

"Father," she said when her strength had recovered, "we must give her the pearls."

"The pearls?" said the king, pulling himself up higher on his twin pedestals. "To these strangers?"

"What use have we of them?"

The king's face darkened. "Sirenetta, since the dawn of time the pearls were entrusted to us for safekeeping, by the storytellers themselves. For a _purpose._ They are too valuable, too irreplaceable."

"I am embarrassed at your ignorance, Father. Do you not see that this is the purpose for which the pearls were given us? This is the Guardian, as appointed by those same storytellers. And she needs them. Unless, of course, you wish me to be kidnapped by this sorcerer and become nothing but a shell of a girl—a girl with human legs. Are the pearls more valuable than me?"

The king took a long time to respond. Serena noticed the gills on the sides of his face flaring, as if he were taking in deep breaths to calm his temper.

"Bring me the pearls," he finally muttered. A servant disappeared into a coral hallway.

"Now that we have concluded these dull discussions," said Sirenetta, propping herself against one maid and holding her free arm out toward Darien, fingers dangling before him until he had no choice but to take them uncertainly into his own. "We mer do not believe in garments, yet even I know that your fashions do not match those of the humans. You must be a prince from a far away land."

Darien glanced down at the soaking gray t-shirt that clung to his body and his blue jeans that were going to take an obnoxiously long time to dry.

"I'm not a-a prince," he said, a mild blush reaching his ears.

The servant returned, and Sirenetta withdrew her hand, allowing the tips of her fingers to caress Darien's palm as she did so. Her eyes, Serena noticed, lingered even longer upon his face.

"Give them to me," said Sirenetta. The servant dropped three small white pearls into her palm and she, in turn, held them out for Serena to take, firmly closing Serena's fingers around them and holding her fist while she explained, "Swallow one of these while you are in water and you will become mer. The spell will last until you are on dry land again."

When the mermaid released her hand, Serena pulled the pearls in close to her chest and nodded to confirm her understanding.

And then the tranquillity of the moment was destroyed by shrill screams.

A guard above them cried, "_Serpent!_"

The call was followed by a reverberating crash against the side of the castle. The entire structure trembled. The water vibrated and pulsed around them. Serena screamed and grabbed for Darien at the same moment he reached out for her, drawing her against him as they watched their small pocket of air tremble at the impact.

The merfolk around them were in chaos, darting in and out of holes in the coral, grabbing up spear-shaped weapons, barking orders.

Another crash against the castle. Bits of coral and shell tumbled around them.

And then Serena saw it. Her heart leaped up into her throat as she saw the monster through the castle's main entrance. Black and green scales. A long, snakelike body, sharp fins, and a spade tail. The size of an elephant, or a whale, or a house. Giant, unlidded eyeballs sitting on either side of its head, and a long pointed nose lined with row upon row of razor teeth. Serena felt faint as she watched it torpedo straight at the outermost wall. Another thud and rumbling. More screams.

"Get the humans out of here!" the king yelled. No sooner had he ordered it than the monster crashed into the castle and the air pocket broke.

Serena had the time to gasp in a mouthful of air before the water rushed in upon them. The magnitude of it ripped Darien away from her and she barely kept from screaming, before a muscular arm encircled her waist and she felt herself being pulled upward. She clawed at the arm, looking everywhere for a sign of Darien. Her heart pounded against her ribs. She needed to breathe. She kicked and struggled and looked and looked and looked down at the golden castle, the monster still attacking, the merfolk charging it with spears and lances, and then it all faded away into heaping clouds of sand and then shadow and then only blackness deep down in the lake.

They broke through the surface. Serena drank in the air, panting.

She had not had time to think before she was being dragged toward the shore. She was brusquely tossed onto the sandy surf as soon as it was shallow enough, coughing and spitting salt water from her mouth. It had become nighttime. The world was black, or, would have been, if it hadn't been for the three-quarter moon casting an enchanted silver haze that reflected off the lake—so placid, so serene on the surface.

"I must return to defend my castle."

She flopped onto her back, holding herself up on her palms, and took note of the merman, his features dark and worried. "Darien is still down there."

"Someone else may have grabbed him."

Tears were welling up now. Her whole body was trembling, and she tried, weakly, to sit up, but found that she could not. She noticed the deep gashes in the merman's arm, bleeding—his blood as vibrantly red as hers—and realized that she had caused them with her struggles.

"You have to look for him. You have to save him!"

"I am sorry, Guardian. If he has not been rescued already, he will not survive."

"But—no, wait!" Serena cried out as the merman, with an apologetic dip of his head, turned and dove back down into the lake.

She fell back into the sand and realized that she had dropped the pearls that the merking had given her. The pearls that were supposed to turn her into a mermaid, to help her cross the sorcerer's underground lake.

But what did any of that matter now?

She covered her face with both arms and wept, her entire body jerking with the sobs. The waves splashed around her, caressing her legs and sides, kissing her hair, but she barely noticed them.

She should have been able to save him. She shouldn't have let go. She should have demanded that the merman go back and find him right away. She should have . . .

Singing broke into her thoughts, louder even than her own crying.

But not singing as Serena knew it.

Her tears stopped. The traitorous tears simply could not continue to fall when that sound was in her ears, in her head. It was too beautiful. Too angelic. Too calming and serene.

She peeled her arms away from face and turned her head.

There on the shore, illuminated by the moon's shimmering beams, lay Darien and Princess Sirenetta.

Darien was on his back, struggling to breathe—but breathing. His black hair was plastered to his forehead, his clothes and bare arms covered in sand, his eyes closed.

And above him hovered Sirenetta, propped on one elbow, the fingers of her other arm tracing the inside of Darien's elbow. Her black hair pooled around them, slick and shining. Her long silver tail circled languidly in the surf. Her skin looked even more beautiful in the moonlight—tinged a pale, pale blue—and her dark, eternal eyes were fixed upon Darien's face with more tenderness than Serena believed she had ever seen on any face before.

It was the most beautiful vision Serena had even known. Painfully beautiful. Heart-wrenchingly beautiful. And the song that Sirenetta sang, in an unknown language or in no language at all, was filled with such desperate longing, such unhappy, untouchable love, that Serena felt it cutting her to the soul.

Sirenetta stopped singing, her song trailing off toward the moon and the stars.

Darien's eyes blinked open.

And then she kissed him.

And, eyes closing again, he kissed her back.

Panic. Envy. Anger. The night's peace fizzled away as if Serena had only dreamt it, and she struggled onto her hands and knees. "Hey!" she yelled at them. "Hey, stop that!" She pulled herself onto her weak legs and stumbled toward them. "Knock it off!"

The mermaid pulled away from Darien only when Serena was close enough that she could have reached out and smacked her—and him, if she'd wanted to. Darien continued to stare wide-eyed up at the mermaid, his breathing still heavy.

But Sirenetta turned to Serena and smiled, slowly, proudly.

Serena's blood boiled. She fell to her knees beside them, fists clenched, and was just about to start yelling (what, she did not know), when the princess silenced her by thrusting a pale, glimmering finger at her sternum.

"Guardian," she said, and for the first time her enchanting voice sounded cruel and harsh to Serena's ears.

Serena sunk back on her heels, stunned, and watched as Sirenetta turned her sweet smile back to Darien for a brief moment, and then pushed herself away and disappeared into the lake in a single graceful movement.

Serena stared at the empty water.

Guardian.

She blinked, stunned.

She was a Guardian.

No story. No fairy tale. No prince.

No happy ever after.  
"Serena?"

She glanced down. Darien was staring at her, his eyes dazed, his face pale.

At least he was alive. It was a consolation she could not take for granted, and so she allowed herself a faint smile.

"_Serena!_ Thank Grimm you're all right!"

It was Amy, shuffling toward them on the beach. Not far behind her came Zoicite and Endymion, and, quite a bit farther behind them, Melvin.

"Yes, we're okay," she said, helping Darien sit up.

"We set up a camp," said Zoicite. "Come on, you both look like you could use a fire."

* * *

Melvin could hear the sounds of the camp drifting on the breeze that came up from the lake. Talking. The crackle of a fire. The snapping of twigs for firewood. Some laughter, though not much.

But he could no longer see his companions through the dense trees. He'd plodded too far along the lake's sandy shore, his head down as he searched for interesting rocks and seashells in the shadows. He'd never seen seashells by a lake before, but this, he'd quickly gathered, was no ordinary lake, and the wildlife contained in it made for no ordinary lake habitat.

The sky out here was awash with stars, a galaxy like none he had ever seen, having spent his whole life in the cold confines of the city. Out here, without the neon lights of humanity to compete with the sky, all one could see were glittering diamonds. Little pinpricks of light. Miniature candle flames from horizon to horizon. It was breathtaking, but he did not think anyone noticed it but him. They were too busy making plans for tomorrow. Which was ridiculous because evidently Serena was in charge of where they would go next and she'd said repeatedly that she had no idea. Zoicite, the long-haired prince, had suggested returning to Aysel so at least Amy could be comforted. Serena hadn't been immediately opposed the idea, but she hadn't consented to it either. Indecision was etched into everything she said and did, coupled with weariness and anxiety.

Melvin pitied her. Serena was normally so happy, so conscientious of everyone around her, so eager to please. It was unlike her to pull into her own solitude, and to walk around with a persistent, terrified frown on her face.

But Melvin knew there was nothing he could do about it. Besides, she had enough admirers doting on her that she certainly didn't need another.

Poor Darien. Pining for her for so long, only to find his competition is a real-life fairy-tale prince charming. That hardly seemed fair. Melvin pitied him too.

His eye catching on a wet ebony stone, Melvin pushed his glasses up on his nose and bent to pick it up, but it turned out to be only a chunk of driftwood, so he chucked it back into the lake.

For his part, he didn't care where they went, though he would rather stay outdoors than go to some fancy castle where it would be even easier for him to disappear into the woodwork amidst the bustle of love-triangles and apocalyptic quests. At least out here he could experience the perfection of this land, with its towering trees that had never seen a logging truck, and its silver-clear water that had never seen an oil-spill. He wondered if their own world had ever been this perfect, before humans came and took over. He wondered if the fairy-tale people knew what they had and were grateful for it, or if the scales would one day tip toward destructive humanity, even here.

Either way, he wanted to enjoy it while it lasted.

Lost in thought, he almost didn't notice the two fish's corpses drying on the sand. Two dead fish, side by side, their rainbow-colored skins still glistening wet, gave him pause—on closer inspection the sight made Melvin draw back in disgust.

They were both missing their tails, sawed off in an even, clean cut.

The birds that filled the forest had not yet picked up on this delicacy, so the fish could not have been there for long.

Then a movement caught Melvin's eye and he turned to see a white butterfly flittering over the water, heading toward a pile of rocks. His heart thudded. In the dark, it was hard to tell if he was seeing things, and yet he was sure that he recognized the black line-art on the butterfly's wings, the studded circles, like eyeballs, along the edges, the thick furry body. "A _Melanargia russiae,_" he murmured.

What was it doing by the lake, where it was a meal waiting to happen for any number of predators? And what was it doing out after sunset, where its bright white wings made it such an easy target?

These questions were quickly forgotten, replaced instead with, how could he capture the magnificent creature? He could already imagine how it would be the most spectacular addition to his Lepidoptera collection . . . and yet instant guilt took the hope away.

Was killing moths and butterflies really that much worse from killing trees and fish?

"I'll just look," he said, with a nod at the righteousness of his decision. He jogged toward the rocks. It was treacherous climbing over their slippery surfaces, but Melvin did not have far to go. He spotted the butterfly almost immediately, perched on an oddly dark, oddly square rock.

Melvin squinted through his thick lenses, realizing it was not a rock at all, but a book.

He inched closer. The butterfly spotted him and twirled up into the air and was gone, but Melvin had all but forgotten it. Reaching forward, he wrapped his fingers around the book's spine and pulled it toward him.

The black leather binding was blank on all sides, its corners fraying and warped at the edges. The book must have been very old—the spine felt limp and weak in Melvin's grip—but he did not think it could have survived many days out in the elements. Someone must have put it there recently.

Mermaids wouldn't use paper books, would they?

Sitting down on one of the large stones, Melvin opened the front cover.. His eyebrows arched when he saw the title page, lit up by the silver moon.

It was written by hand in fine, sharp calligraphy, not a printing press. The handwriting was so ornate that it was difficult at first to turn the unusual characters into words, but then they began to morph into sensible letters and Melvin dragged his finger along the text.

_TRANSFORMATIONS AND METAMORPHOSES  
SPELLS, POTIONS, AND ANTIDOTES_

_Transcribed by Marquis of Carabas I, sorc._

And then, near the bottom, written in a smaller and different hand:

_Property of the Royal Library, Cashlin_

Melvin's first thought was that it must be an elaborate hoax, but then he remembered where he was, and his hands began to shake.

A book of magic spells. Real magic spells.

The book was no-nonsense; no fancy engraving, no ornate drop caps, no golden gilding on paper edges, all things that a fake would have had to make it seem more legitimate. Melvin almost laughed at the irony.

His wandering fingers felt a shred of cloth jutting between the pages, and he turned to it. The cloth was nothing more than a scrap of muslin. The page it marked was a spell, or maybe a potion. He wasn't entirely sure what the difference was. The title read simply: SEA SERPENT. Melvin scanned through a list of ingredients.

_- one vial of pure white sand__  
- three drops saltwater  
- two fish tails, raw_

"Melvin?"

He snapped the book shut and jumped to his feet. Serena was walking toward him along the beach. She looked exhausted and extra pale in the moonlight, with unbecoming dark circles beneath her eyes. But she was still pretty.

She spotted him and started in surprise, then smiled. "What are you doing out here?"

Melvin shook his head and hid the book behind his back. "Just looking at stuff," he said. "I-I saw a butterfly. I thought it would go great with my collection . . . but it got away."

"Maybe you'll see another one."

He said nothing, just dug his toe into the sandy beach.

"Melvin, I wanted to apologize," she said, coming nearer. "I know I've barely said hi since you and Darien . . . dropped in, this afternoon."

He shrugged and used his free hand to push his glasses up on his nose. "It's okay. You have a lot on your plate right now. What with mermaids and pregnant princesses and that Endymion guy."

Serena lowered her gaze. A moment's silence was followed by a whisper. "I'm glad you're here," she said. "When I came here two years ago, I wished that you could have come with me. I knew how much you would love this place . . . and how nice it would have been to have my best friend with me to experience it. Plus . . . it's been really hard keeping this secret from you guys. So, I'm glad it's one more thing we can share."

She looked at him again, and her smile was a bit brighter. But still, so tired.

"I'm glad I'm here too," he said, and found it was the truth. "But Sere, when was the last time you slept?"

She laughed dryly. "I intend to tonight, barring any more random attacks from sorcerers or sea serpents."

"Sea serpents?"

"Yeah . . . you must have missed Darien and me telling the story. Come on, I'll fill you in." She put her arm around his shoulder as they headed back toward camp.

As carefully as he could, Melvin slipped the spell book into his jacket pocket as they walked. It briefly occurred to him that maybe he should give it to her, that maybe it would help her on her quest to save all those princesses everybody kept talking about, but then he felt a twinge of ownership over the book. It was the first really interesting thing he'd seen, and giving it to her would only ensure that he never saw it again. And why shouldn't he have it?

Serena was a Guardian. Their other companions were all royalty. Even Darien had gotten to go down and meet the merpeople. None of them would care about a silly book of spells, not like Melvin would.

And who knew? Maybe he would be really good at this magic thing and in the end, _he_ could save all those missing princesses. Maybe it was his true calling. Maybe someday people would call him Melvin the Magician.

* * *

When Serena awoke the next morning, she felt like she'd been drugged.

Not that she felt much different than she did any other morning when she was forced to set her alarm for inhumane times—a person should never have to get up before the sun. But the difference with this grogginess was that it wasn't due to an absurdly early hour. In fact, the sun had already crawled its way well over the treetops and the whole forest was alive with the sounds of birds and animals. She'd slept the whole night through, never once stirring, not dreaming, and was waking now only because some mystery power had released her from its grip.

Realizing that the others should have been awake by now too, she rubbed her eyes and sat up.

Endymion was hovering over the embers of last night's fire, calmly stoking it back to a flame. At his side sat a cast iron frying pan and a slab of bacon, salted and wrapped with twine.

He turned his head at her rustling, and grinned. It was a peculiar smile—uncertain, even nervous, which was somewhat unfamiliar to her. She'd often remembered his cocky, arrogant smiles, more than anything else about him. The way he knew that the world was at his fingertips and every person would bow to his whim for no other reason than he walked and breathed pure charm. But how would he feel without his memory to guide that certainty? Without his memory of her, of their love, of their unbreakable bond to each other?

She began to smile back, but the smile quickly disintegrated.

She still had no proof that this was Endymion at all. That he wasn't actually a villain meant to keep her from saving the princesses.

But if that was the case, he could have harmed them at any time while they slept . . .

Serena started. The lingering foggineness cleared from her mind. "Are you the only one awake?" she said, looking around.

"Yes," he answered. His smile had fallen when hers had, and he stared at the pan over the fire. "I've only been awake for a few minutes. Everyone else was asleep."

"Someone was supposed to be on watch," she said. She did not add—_and it was not supposed to be you,_ as Zoicite had decided last night that Endymion could not be trusted to keep watch while everyone else slept.

Endymion shrugged, understanding what went unsaid. "I'm not sure who was supposed to be on last watch. But everyone was asleep."

She scanned the rest of the camp. Darien was sleeping soundly an arm's length from her and, beyond him, Melvin was curled up in the crooked roots of a pine tree, snoring.

On the other side of the fire, Zoicite and Amy were silent and unmoving on their own shared mat. Zoicite on his back, arms and legs spread out, while Amy remained curled into a ball in the tiny spot on the blankets that remained for her. A ping of guilt hit Serena to see the poor girl sleeping out in the wilderness in her current state. This was certainly no way to treat a pregnant princess—she would need to find better accommodations in the nights to come.

She recalled that Zoicite was going to take first watch, but she didn't know the order after that. She was sure it hadn't been her responsibility, but she didn't want to place blame on Darien or Melvin either.

She grabbed her cloak, which had doubled as an extra blanket, and tied it around her shoulders, then watched as Endymion tore the bacon apart, strip by strip, and set it into the pan. It sizzled loudly and a smoky-salty aroma filled the air.

"Serena."

She looked at Amy, certain that the quiet, strained voice had come from her, and yet the princess had not moved.

"Amy?"

A pause. Amy's eyes were squeezed shut, but as Serena watched her through the fire's hazy smoke, she saw the princess lick her lips. "Come here."

She was at her side in an instant. Zoicite was beginning to stir, first with a yawn and then a groan as he opened his eyes. Amy, on the other hand, remained motionless, her brow furrowed, her breathing shallow.

"Amy, what is it?" Serena asked, kneeling before her.

"He took me."

"What?"

"The sorcerer. He took me last night."

* * *

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	8. Swan Spell

Many thanks to all reviewers and my beta, KaitlynFall.

Enjoy!

Return to Aysel: Another Grimm Tale  
Alicia Blade

Chapter 8: Swan Spell_  
The father answered, "Your brothers have hurt themselves with it.  
Leave it alone, you do not understand anything about it."_  
from The Golden Goose

Serena shivered, dread welling inside of her. "The sorcerer?" she whispered, staring down at Amy's still form.

Beside his wife, Zoicite tried to shed the effects of his deep sleep, and slowly sat up. "What—? Did I just hear—?"

"Yes, the sorcerer has chosen Amy for his next victim," said Serena. "But how? We don't have any mirrors."

"Be quiet and listen," Amy said in hushed tones. Her face was lined with a frown, but she did not seem afraid. Merely thoughtful. "It's like a dream that is fading by the moment. I've been trying to recall as much as possible . . ."

Serena gulped. "Go ahead, Amy. What do you remember?"

"I did not go through a mirror," she said. "I went into the lake."

Serena glanced at the calm waters down the shore from their camp, and humility struck her. Of course, Queen Beryl had been able to use any reflective surface as the conduit for her plans; why wouldn't the sorcerer have the same ability?

"And I went to the sorcerer. I could not stop myself. But at first, he didn't look like a stranger. He . . . he looked like Zoicite."

Serena's gaze flicked up to Zoicite's horror-struck face.

"We went to a castle, and then we danced and danced . . . it seemed never ending. At first I was enjoying myself, but then my feet and back started to hurt so bad, and I couldn't stop. And then . . . I don't know when, but, he stopped being Zoicite. He became someone else. Someone cold."

"Amy . . ."

"At the end of the night, he was dancing with the mermaid—she was there, but she had legs. And when they stopped dancing he . . . he . . ." Amy looked on the verge of tears, her voice quivering as she told her story. "The poor girl looked so terrified, but she didn't scream. And then . . . he . . ." She curled her body tighter, pressing her chin into her knees. "He took her heart."

Serena gritted her teeth.

"You could tell that she was in such agony, though she didn't make a sound. Then she collapsed, and the sorcerer put her heart into a box. He put the mermaid in a coffin. A traditional glass coffin, and I . . . They were all there. Luna, Lita, Mina . . . little, innocent Cytherea. . . . All kept in those horrible coffins."

And Briar Rose, too. And Serena's mom. . . .

"Could you tell if they were dead?"

Amy shook her head. "I don't know. There was not much blood, even when he . . . And the girls did not look dead in their coffins. They all looked asleep, like they were under a spell. But I don't know. . . ."

"Amy, I promise I won't let him—"

"There were others, too."

Serena hesitated. "Others?"

"Other princesses. Two of them. My memory is failing, but I'm sure there were two. One fair-haired and petite, but not a child, not like Cytherea. And the other had black hair, as black as the mermaid's. But fairer skin, and I remember feeling that I knew her . . . that I loved her. I . . . I think it was Raye."

Serena sat back on her heels. "Do you remember anything else?"

Amy's brow furrowed as she tried to grasp at the last escaping tendrils of the dream, but she finally sighed and opened her eyes. They were dark, almost as dark as the circles below them. "No. That's all."

"How are you feeling this morning?"

Focusing her gaze on Serena, Amy sighed. "Like I've been dancing all night."

"Her shoes."

Serena didn't know when Darien and Melvin had awoken or when Endymion had set aside the breakfast to join them, but they all stood behind her now. In his hand, Endymion held Amy's boots. The soles were filled with holes and were separating from the rest of the leather.

"Good thing you won't be doing much walking," Serena said.

"I don't know that I could even stand at the moment."

Zoicite took his wife's hand. "You will have to ride. You can ride with me if it is easier for you."

Amy's eyelashes fluttered as he peered up at her husband. "Yes, that will be best."

"How far is Cashlin from here?" said Serena.

Zoicite cast his eyes skyward. "If we'd gotten a decent start, we could have been there by evening. But being so late in the day, I doubt we'll be there by nightfall."

"We'd better get going then."

They quickly ate the bacon that Endymion had prepared and divided two loaves of bread to eat on the road, before packing their supplies. No sooner had they saddled the horses did Serena hear the lulling, melodic sound of singing. She followed it to the edge of Cerulean Lake and saw the torsos of two mermen just off the shore. She could not tell if they were the same messengers that had come for her the day before.

They stopped singing when she had approached.

"Guardian, you ungratefully disregard the gift of our king."

"Excuse me?"

She thought perhaps the merman was trying to smile as he waved an oyster shell at her. At her frown, he threw the shell at her and she caught it with only slight fumbling. It rattled in her grip. Noticing a silver hinge on one side, she opened the shell to see three small pearls rolling around inside.

Closing the shell, she nodded at the merman. "I'm sorry. I dropped them."

"You are forgiven for matters beyond your control."

"The serpent?"

"Gone, but not defeated. Our warriors are brave and strong and cornered the creature by the north end of the lake, but then it disappeared."

"Disappeared?"

"Yes, in a cloud of black ink, like a giant squid. We are sure it was sorcery."

Serena's heart jumped as she remembered the creepy man in the tower—the man who reeked of evil and disappeared in a black cloud. She shuddered. If it was the same man, then she had no doubt that he had come for her, not the merpeople.

And that he was more powerful than she'd guessed.

"And . . . Princess Sirenetta?"

The man stared at her, his deep eyes expressionless. "Also disappeared."

Lowering her gaze, she rubbed her thumb over the hard-ridged shell.

"You will bring her back to us."

"I will try."

She heard a splash and raised her eyes to see that the mermen had disappeared, leaving only rippling waves of foam upon the water.

* * *

Amy dozed against Zoicite's chest for the entire journey, apparently undisturbed by the bumping and clopping of the horse. She awoke only for a late lunch—nuts and berries found on the way, along with cheese and crackers from their packs—but otherwise remained silent and still. Zoicite, guiding the horse while embracing his wife, was clearly distraught. They all knew the trend of the missing princesses would not cease with Amy. How many nights would it take before she disappeared for good? And what would become of the baby?

Serena was determined not to let it happen. All day she tried to figure out how to stop it, racked her brain for the solution, but it would not come to her.

The merfolk's gift of the three pearls would assist her in crossing the lake. But when she reached the castle, how would she find the princesses, open their coffins, awaken them, and bring them home, all without the sorcerer seeing her? Especially when she couldn't kill him. Even if she'd had the strength and the ability to kill him, she couldn't, as the mermaid princess had told her. Killing him could bring the whole castle and underground cave tumbling in upon them, trapping her and the princesses for good.

She tried to trust in the powers bestowed on her by Jacob Grimm. She was the Guardian of Happy Endings, and she would ensure that the princesses were returned to their rightful places in the world—to their rightful stories.

Everyone was depending on her. Her friends. Her mom . . .

It was clear that they were finally approaching Cashlin when they saw lights twinkling through the trees. Hundreds of them—thousands of them. A whole city's worth of them. The journey plodded on. The elevation began to rise, almost unnoticeably at first, and the path became rocky and steep. They found themselves passing by towering cliffs as they neared the Eternal Mountains.

Thent hey crossed a riverstone bridge over a burbling river that set them down right in front of the luxurious, white-stone city of Cashlin.

The streets wound back and forth, slowly making their way up the mountainside and to the castle that was built into the rocky cliff; some of the walls had been carved directly from the mountain, emerging as if magically coerced from the rock, becoming stacked-stone walls and towers and bastions. It was impossible to imagine that man alone had crafted the structure. It seemed as eternal as the mountains it belonged to.

Massive iron-hinged doors greeted them when they reached the end of the zigzagging road. They were illuminated by a sconce on either side, each sconce holding six candles that spread both light and shadows along the wall.

"Who goes there?" bellowed a voice before Serena could even knock.

The travelers craned their necks. On top of the castle's battlement stood the shadowed form of a soldier with an arrow cocked in his bow.

"I am the Guardian of Happy Endings."

The man did not lower his weapon, but he did have the grace to look surprised.

"I have come to speak with the king and queen. My companions are Prince Zoicite and Princess Amy of Aysel, and . . . and Prince Endymion of Aysel, and two friends from the world of the storytellers."

She could see the man squinting, trying to make them out in the dim torch light.

"Halt. I will come down."

The man disappeared and it was not long before they heard the creaking of hinges as the gigantic wooden doors were opened. When the guard appeared, he had exchanged his bow for a torch. Behind him stood a half dozen other guards, and Serena did not doubt they were a blink away from drawing their own weapons.

He instantly turned a studious gaze to Serena. His brow was furrowed as he looked at her, but he soon nodded.

"I can see you clearly now, Guardian, and I remember you," he said, his voice low and respectful.

She blinked. "You do?"

A smile, almost shy, flittered across his lips. "I am embarrassed to say that I was among the soldiers who attacked Aysel two years before, under the direction of Queen Beryl and the false Guardians. I . . . I died that day." He pulled down the collar of his tunic to show Serena a white scar on his chest. "Slain by the brave citizens of Aysel. But you bound my soul to that of my beautiful wife, and saved me. I am forever grateful, as we all are."

Emotion welled up in Serena. In all the misery of that time, the loss she suffered, the horrors she had seen, it was easy to forget all of the good that had also come from her being given the power of a Guardian.

"What is your name?"

"Sam. And my wife is Isabelle."

"I'm glad that I could help you, Sam," she said, adding with a glance at the silver-white aura that hovered over the soldier's head, "I am glad to see that you are both living happily ever after."

His grin widened, as if Serena had just given him an award. Then he stepped aside and gestured toward the door.

"Please, enter, and welcome to Cashlin. Their Majesties are sleeping, though I will send a servant to wake them if the Guardian wishes it."

"Please do send a messenger, but ask them to knock only three times. I suspect they will not be able to waken the king and queen. In which case, if you could set us up with lodging for the night, that would suffice."

Sam passed Serena's orders on to the soldiers beyond the door as a stable boy appeared and took the horses.

They were led into a sitting room with a fire on the hearth. Serena was grateful to sink down into an overstuffed chair with a contented sigh. She guessed it was nearing midnight, and her entire body ached. She was just beginning to doze off, fantasizing about a warm bed, when she noticed Amy curled up beside her husband, fast asleep.

The sight instantly awakened her and she sat up, ignoring her muscles' complaints.

One of the guards returned to the room. "I apologize, but we have not been able to awaken King Jadeite or Queen Snow White."

"I expected as much," said Serena. "Please, do you have a place for us to stay tonight?"

"Of course." The man gave a quick bow. "If you'll follow me."

They were led down several long corridors and up two flights of stairs before they reached the guest wing.

Carrying Amy in his arms, Zoicite ducked into the first room that was offered up.

Serena claimed the next room, but stood fidgeting in the doorway while Endymion, Darien, and Melvin disappeared one by one.

But she noticed that Endymion did not shut his door, even after the guard had left the corridor. A roaring fire crackled on the hearth at Serena's back, and she could hear another from Endymion's room. Pale light from the two open doorways flooded the shadowed hallway, otherwise lit only by a few sparse sconces.

Serena could not help but wonder, could not help but believe, that Endymion was waiting for her beyond that halo of firelight. Wanting to speak to her, to see her. And she could not deny the yearning she felt. The way her feet began treading toward his doorway almost of their own accord.

A full day had passed, and hardly a word between them. Only the occasional glance, the clashing of gazes, the flustered blush that flooded her face time and again. And now here they were, alone—finally. They were but a few steps apart, and miraculously away from prying eyes.

Her heart thumped, as if it would leap out of her chest and—

Serena sucked in a breath and pulled back. She braced herself against the door frame and cast an anxious glance toward Amy and Zoicite's room.

_Evil, shape-shifting, heart-stealing sorcerer . . ._

Suspicions surged inside her. Was Endymion _trying_ to distract her from the more important mission?

Clenching her fists, she ducked into the hallway and headed in the opposite direction, toward the closed door of Amy and Zoicite's room.

Footsteps on the marble floor froze her and she spun, half-expecting to see the white-haired sorcerer leering at her from Endymion's doorway.

But no. Kind blue eyes greeted her. Endymion was frowning, his eyes vivid with worry.

"You are going to follow Princess Amy."

She took a hesitant step away from him. "Yes," she said. "I am."

He stepped farther into the hallway and, in a single clean movement, drew his sword.

Fear seized Serena. A scream filled her throat—but it sizzled almost immediately.

Her reaction did not go unnoticed, and Endymion openly gaped at her, even as he turned the sword so that the handle was poised near Serena's wrist.

"I am sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to scare you. I-I noticed you don't carry a weapon."

He trailed off and waited until Serena took the sword in both shaking hands.

"I'm sorry," she breathed. "I just thought—"

"It's all right." His lips quirked into the half-smile that had never failed to weaken her knees, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I hope it isn't too heavy for you."

Gulping, she looked down at the blade. It _was_ heavy, but there was also a comforting presence about it. And something about the way Endymion stood unflinching before her. The sword tip was now aimed at his gut, but he didn't shy away from it. As if he trusted her implicitly.

Of course, he had no idea that she had wielded his sword before.

"Thank you," she said.

"Promise me you'll be careful?"

His gaze sparked in the torchlight and for a moment she could believe that he honestly cared, that he maybe even loved her again, and a gentle warmth spread out along her limbs.

"Yes. I promise."

His features softened. "Lady Serena . . ." he murmured, his voice filled with uncertainty. Her pulse rushed through her veins as her feet inched toward him, the sword forgotten. His hand crept up toward her face.

He did not know her. Did not remember her. But when the pads of his fingers breezed against her temple, pushing back a stray curl, the touch was electricity down to her toes, and for a breath she believed she _did_ know him.

She gasped and jerked back, suddenly remembering why she was standing in this dark hallway. Even at this very moment Amy could be traversing the long stairwell to the sorcerer's enchanted castle.

Serena spun away from Endymion and pounded on the bedroom door.

It was mere moments before Zoicite opened it, still dressed. He looked as if he'd been expecting her.

"Come in," he said, gesturing toward a sleeping form on the bed. "I've decided that I will follow her too."

"Oh." Serena turned back to Endymion, so that he would know she was not going alone—but the hallway was empty.

* * *

Melvin fell back against the closed bedroom door with a relieved sigh.

What an insanely long, tedious day it had been. Riding those slow horses, surrounded by people, only able to sneak glimpses of his new spell book when no one was paying any attention and he wouldn't look suspicious.

Now, finally, he was alone.

His heart pounded with excitement, his palms were sweating with impatience, and he wasted no time in digging the book from his pack. He'd already decided on the spell he would try, a spell that he'd known from the start would be easy to complete. The ingredients were common enough that any well-stocked guest room would have them. Now all he needed was a subject.

He turned to the page of the spell he'd chosen and laid it out on the room's writing desk. He barely noticed the luxurious apartment: the gold veining in the white stone walls, the velvet curtains overhanging a floor-to-ceiling window, tall taper candles set into silver sticks on the nightstand.

These things were elementary. Melvin was going to perform magic. Real magic.

But first—a subject.

Any living creature would do, but where would he find a living creature? Dare he venture into the castle, in search of a mouser cat in the kitchens or a sleeping pigeon in the rafters? He would almost certainly get lost.

But he wasn't about to test the spell on _himself._

Then he heard it—and his heart lifted. Fate was on his side.

A fat black housefly was buzzing against the window, repeatedly smacking itself into the glass in an attempt to escape the confines of the castle.

A grin spread over Melvin's lips and he anxiously pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

He found a teaset on a small table and, taking one of the porcelain cups in hand, approached the window. The fly paid him no heed.

A clatter, and it was trapped.

Breathing hard, Melvin slid the saucer under the cup's mouth and brought it back to the writing desk, setting it beside the book. The fly continued to buzz, angrier now, but he ignored it as he read through the ingredients list.

_One strip of pure-white cotton fabric _was ripped from a pillowcase on the bed.

_A feather (any variety, though swan is best) _came out of the same pillow, though Melvin had no idea what kind of bird it was from.

_A wand._ This object had nearly deterred Melvin entirely, until he'd discovered the glossary in the back of the book that explained a "wand" could be any stick of pure wood that a magician chose, though some woods—particularly aged oak and young birch—were undoubtedly most efficient. For his purposes, Melvin had picked up a twig of the unknown-wood family while they'd been stopped for dinner in the forest.

_And_ _the subject. _Melvin beamed at the teacup.

He read through the directions twice before beginning. First, he took the swatch of cotton and used it to tie the feather to the stick. He wrapped the cotton twice and secured it into the tightest knot he could, exactly as the instruction said. Then he held the wand with the tips of his fingers, careful not to touch the strip of cotton, and turned to the teacup on the desk.

"Snow-white down and feather-soft; ebony mask and golden beak; swooping neck and head aloft; water, land, and sky you'll seek."

Melvin held his breath. The stick was trembling, though he didn't know if it was magic or his own nervousness that was causing it. Holding the wand aloft, he stretched forward for the teacup. Inside, he could hear the fervent buzzing of the insect as it bounced off the walls of its tiny prison. His fingers brushed the cold ceramic. He began to lift the cup from its saucer.

A large hand fell onto his, smashing the cup back down to the saucer with a clatter. Melvin squeaked. Looking up, he found himself captured in a glacial scowl.

"What. Are. You. Doing?" the man hissed.

Melvin shrunk back. The man released his hand, but Melvin remained immobilized, gawking at the stranger who towered over him by a full head.

"You have something that belongs to me," he said, casting his horrible silver-blue gaze to the desk where the black leather book was opened to Melvin's spell. "I should turn you into a toad for your thievery."

Melvin gulped and watched as the man reached his bony hand toward the book and closed the cover with a flick of his wrist. Melvin couldn't tell if he'd actually touched it.

Clearly, the man had more magic than could be garnered from The Book of Transformations.

"Wh-who are you?"

The man did not look at him again; he was too busy inspecting the book, ensuring it hadn't been harmed.

"Someone you do not want to steal from again," he said.

"You're the one stealing the princesses, aren't you?"

The man said nothing.

"And you were by the lake. Y-you killed those fish, to . . . to transform into the sea serpent that attacked the merpeople, didn't you?"

Those brilliant eyes flashed toward him again, now tinged with amusement. "And what makes you think I won't kill you too?" His hand was drawing the book closer, ready to tuck it into the folds of his stark-white tunic.

_Pure-white cotton fabric . . . snow-white down and feather soft . . . _

Melvin sucked in a deep breath and stabbed the end of the stick at the man's chest.

The sorcerer's surprise was immediate—and brief.

A puff of white smoke billowed up from the end of the broom and then the man was gone, replaced with a pristine white swan.

Melvin blinked down at the bird as it fluffed up its wings and hissed at him in fervent irritation. Pride swelled in his chest. His first spell was a success—and against a practiced sorcerer no less!

Melvin the Magician, indeed.

The swan snorted and lunged at him with his beak. Melvin yelped and danced away, then dipped down and snatched the book off the carpet and rushed for the bedroom door.

"Help!" he screamed, darting into the hallway. "There's a swan in my—"

His voice died out when he turned and instead of seeing a bright white swan in his room, he saw only a cloud of black smoke, quickly dissipating in the air. The room was silent, save the constant buzz of a trapped fly.

* * *

Though she had slept like a drugged rock the night before, Serena felt exhaustion gripping her yet again. An entire day of riding and worrying had taken its toll. She tried to shake it off—literally, by shaking her head every once in awhile, and rubbing her arms, and stretching her legs, anything to keep the blood flowing.

Zoicite seemed significantly less concerned with dozing off. He stood behind her, still as a statue, and every time she glanced back at him, he was wide awake, his eyes glued to Amy as the night wore on.

It seemed that hours had passed before Amy finally stirred. Serena held her breath and watched as the princess went through the same motions that Mina had gone through—rising from the bed and changing into a dress and a pair of slippers. The dress was the only other dress she'd packed, and the slippers were cotton night slippers that had come with the guest room—hardly the extravagant ball gown that Mina had chosen, but the best that Amy could do here in Cashlin castle.

Serena waited while Amy stepped toward the full-length mirror in the corner of the room and, without hesitation, disappeared into the glass. Gripping Endymion's sword, Serena paced across the room, Zoicite right behind her.

Her fingers had just touched the cool, liquid surface of the glass when she heard yelling in the hallway.

Serena withdrew her hand and turned toward the sound. Zoicite was staring at the bedroom door, his brow drawn. They exchanged puzzled looks.

The yelling grew louder, gaining clarity. Someone was calling Serena's name.

Her heart thumped. She looked at the mirror, innocently reflecting her concern back to her. Then she recognized the voice.

"It's Melvin," she whispered. She took an unsteady step toward the door, but hesitated, torn.

"I will follow Amy," Zoicite said.

Gritting her teeth, Serena again looked at the mirror.

"No," she said. "It should be me . . ."

"She is my wife." The murmured words sparked sympathy in the pit of Serena's stomach. "I will protect her. Go. Perhaps something has happened."

Melvin called her name again, and she heard pounding on a distant door—he thought she was in her own guest quarters.

"Fine. But be careful," she said, opening the bedroom door and slipping into the hallway.

"Serena!" Melvin yelled from the other end of the corridor. He was breathless, but his eyes were a mix of fear and excitement.

"Melvin, what happened?"

"The sorcerer. He was here."

Serena blinked, barely acknowledging the soft click of the bedroom door as it shut behind her.

"He came to my room," said Melvin.

"Melvin, calm down. You must have been dreaming."

Irritation flashed behind Melvin's glasses. "It wasn't a dream. I was wide awake, and he came to my room and threatened to kill me."

"Why would the sorcerer threaten to kill _you,_ of all the people in this castle?"

"Well, because . . ." Melvin hesitated.

With a groan, Serena leaned the sword against one wall and pushed her bangs back from her face. If she lost her chance to save Amy because Melvin had had a nightmare . . .

"Look, Melvin, I have to go. Amy could be—"

"Because I have his book."

Her gaze returned to him, though her hands stayed against her forehead, warding off an incoming headache.

"What book?"

"His book of transformation spells. I found it by the lake. I . . . I didn't realize it was his. But he came because he wanted it back."

"Are you sure you weren't dreaming all this?"

"Positive. He was tall and skinny and had white hair and strange ice-blue eyes and he appeared out of nowhere and said he wanted his book back."

Serena gulped. White hair and strange ice-blue eyes. Yes. That would be him.

"God, Melvin, are you okay? Did he hurt you?"

Melvin opened his mouth to speak, but then froze. "Umm . . . yes, I'm fine."

Serena quirked an eyebrow.

"He, um . . ." Melvin's eyes darted to the bedroom door behind her. "He seemed to remember he had somewhere to be, and he disappeared before he could do anything to me."

She leaned against the doorframe, her gaze dropping. "You mean he remembered he was supposed to be kidnapping princesses."

"I guess so."

"What else about this book? You said it was a book of spells?"

Melvin nodded. "Transformation spells. I . . . think he's a shape-shifter."

"Yeah, I knew that. But I had no idea he would need a book for it."

"Well, I don't think he _needs_ the book, at least probably not for his favorite spells. I'm sure he has those memorized. He probably just uses the book for the more obscure ones that you wouldn't need very often. Like . . . a sea serpent."

"A sea serpent?"

"Yeah." He pushed up his glasses. "I-I'm pretty sure he was the serpent that attacked the merfolk when you and Darien were down there. And he left the book on the shore and I found it. . . . I'm sorry, Sere, I should have told you earlier. I guess . . . I just thought it was kind of cool. Like a fairy-tale souvenir."

"Too bad he came back for it, because that could have been useful."

When Melvin said nothing, Serena sighed and turned back to the doorway. She grabbed the hilt of Endymion's sword and suddenly froze, her breath catching.

She looked back to Melvin, and he took an uncomfortable step back from her penetrating stare, before she glanced at the closed door to Endymion's room. "You say the sorcerer was the serpent?"

He shrugged. "I think so. There was a sea serpent spell and it called for two fish tails and I saw—"

"But Endymion—he was up on the shore with you guys the whole time, wasn't he? While you set up camp?"

She could tell Melvin was considering the question, trying to remember the details of the night before, but finally he nodded. "Yes. He was on the shore with us the whole time."

Serena's heart jolted, expanding with hope. If Endymion couldn't be the sorcerer . . . !

"Although," Melvin said, scratching his chin. "It's always possible the sorcerer used a different subject to create the serpent. Just about any animal would do. It would be difficult, though."

Serena's hopes dissolved. If he had the power to create an entire underground castle, how hard could it be to make one miserable sea serpent?

"I need to try and save Amy," she muttered, already knowing she was too late.

Especially when she tried the knob, and found the door locked.

* * *

_please review._


	9. Lady Emerald

Thanks to all reviewers and the amazing **KaitlynFall** for beta-ing (who, BTW, has just had a literary agent request to see her first manuscript! So everyone send her good publishing luck!!)

Return to Aysel: Another Grimm Tale  
Alicia Blade

Chapter 9: Lady Emerald_  
The princes were bewitched for as many days as they had danced nights with the twelve._  
from The Twelve Dancing Princesses

Serena could not sleep. Endymion's sword lay on the bed beside her, cold and unused. Her imagination continuously fed her nightmares of what could be happening down in the underground cave, that she could not get to.

Had Zoicite been able to follow Amy down to the underground lake? Had he found a way across the water, to the castle, even without the magic pearls? Had he fought the sorcerer? Had he won? Would Amy return, or was this her final night with the sorcerer? Was she already sleeping somewhere in a glass coffin, a hollow cavity where her heart had been?

When morning finally arrived, Serena launched herself from the bed and threw on the first dress she saw—the breeches she'd been given in Aysel had been taken somewhere to be washed.

She was in front of Amy and Zoicite's door within moments, and forgot to knock in her rush.

The door opened without complaint, as if the enchantment that had kept it locked the night before had been only a figment of Serena's imagination. Heart hammering, she stepped into the room with much more caution, afraid of what she would, or would not, find there. The sun was slowly rising, casting a dull gray light over the room.

She spotted Zoicite sitting by the window and found her breath again.

Thank goodness—the prince had not been killed by the sorcerer.

But Serena's relief was short-lived.

Zoicite was alone in the room.

He did not turn to Serena as she crept across the thick carpet. He was sitting with his hands folded, leaning forward so that his forehead was pressed against the massive glass window that overlooked the white city of Cashlin. In his reflection, Serena could glimpse deadened eyes.

"Zoicite?"

He did not stir.

Serena glanced at the large bed. It had clearly not been touched since Amy had crept out of it the night before on her way to the sorcerer's lair.

Hot tears pricked her eyes. "I . . . I'm so sorry."

Zoicite's fingers twitched, gripping each other. He gulped and leaned back in his chair, eyes shut.

Finally, he said with a hoarse voice, "When I reached the lake, they were already in the boat. I could do nothing but watch as he took her away."

Serena sat on the edge of the bed and gripped the blankets until her knuckles went white. She barely heard Zoicite's next words.

"When they went into the castle, he was holding her hand."

A shiver scurried along Serena's spine. "I should have been there with you."

Zoicite stood, and although he did not look at her, Serena could see redness in his eyes from spent tears. "He took Raye as well, but she returned. Perhaps she will know something."

"We'll go speak with her and Jadeite right away."

"And there were two others, but they were so far away that I could not get a good look at them. They were both pale-haired. They could have been twins."

"Do you know any royalty by that description?"

"No. I don't think I recognized these two girls. Though I was not paying them much attention." He inhaled a struggled breath. "Lady Serena, what can we do? I have to get her back. If I don't—if anything happens to her—" He turned away, balling his fists. His entire body was shaking.

"We'll get her back, Zoicite. First, we need to learn everything we can about this sorcerer—how he's doing this, and why he's doing this. And then we'll figure out a way to stop him."

She was met with silence. Unable to think of any more words of comfort that would not be lies, Serena stood and made her way to the door. "We need to speak with Raye and find out what she knows." When still the prince did not respond, Serena sighed. "Shall I go to breakfast without you?"

He cleared his throat; Serena wondered if he'd been crying. "No," he said. "I want to hear what she has to say. I need to know exactly what happened when that monster took my wife, and how I'm going to get her back."

* * *

Everyone, except Queen Snow White, was in the dining hall when Serena and Zoicite joined them. She saw Darien and Endymion first, sitting directly opposite each other at the long oak table, and Melvin mindlessly pulling grapes from stems.

Jadeite, on spotting Serena and his brother in the doorway, stood from his seat at the head of the table and pulled Serena into an embrace.

"It is so good to see you," he said, releasing Serena and giving her a shake of the shoulders. "I knew you would come back. I knew you wouldn't stay gone forever!"

She had to force a little smile, though it _was_ good to see the sandy-haired prince.

"Hello, Jadeite. Where's Raye?"

"Still sleeping. She didn't sleep well last night, but I'm sure she'll be down to see you shortly." He turned his smile upon Zoicite, but it faltered even as he embraced him. "Brother, you look awful. Did you not sleep well either?"

Zoicite stiffened, barely managing to return the hug. "Not well," he muttered, and collapsed into a seat at the table.

Jadeite turned his frown on Serena. Seeing that she looked nearly as miserable, he said, "But you have brought Endymion back to life. I thought that was why you'd come . . ."

Serena clenched her jaw and looked away. "Actually, I had nothing to do with his return. We're not . . . entirely sure . . ."

She looked at Endymion, whose piercing blue eyes were on her. They flickered to the sword in her grasp, and then to Zoicite. "Where is Princess Amy?"

Serena heard Zoicite inhale a sharp breath, but when he said nothing, she was forced to answer. "She didn't come back last night."

She could feel Jadeite's confusion, but felt unable to meet his gaze as she sat down beside Endymion and gave him back his blade. He took it without question. There was a sudden tenseness in the air. Serena hated that she had no comfort to offer anyone.

"I am sorry to hear that," Endymion murmured, propping the sword against the table, and Serena found that she believed him, that she wanted to believe him. That she wanted to turn to him and bury her face into his shoulder and let him attempt to make her feel better.

And Melvin's words returned to her, that the sea serpent had probably been the sorcerer. That Endymion was probably not her enemy . . .

And after all, he'd been with them for days now. Surely if he'd had any evil intentions. . . . Surely if he'd wanted to hurt her . . .

"What happened?" said Jadeite, sitting again. "Where is Amy?"

Serena licked her lips, ignoring the breakfast before her. "She's been kidnapped," she said. "And Raye is in danger too." She proceeded to tell Jadeite all she knew about the sorcerer and the underground lake and the hearts. When she told him that Raye had been taken the last two nights while he slept, Jadeite jumped from his seat and moved to run from the room to see her, but Serena quieted him with a hand on his wrist and a sharp shake of her head. "There is nothing to be done right now, and she will be safe until tonight."

All signs of joy at Serena's return had disappeared, replaced instead with panic. Serena could feel him trembling beneath her touch.

"What can I do?" he asked.

"I'm not sure yet. I'd like to speak with Raye."

"Of course."

"Lady Serena," said Zoicite, "Do you have a plan?"

Serena stared at the table. Unable to lie, she said nothing.

* * *

Serena and Zoicite followed the king to his private quarters and found Raye precisely how Serena expected to find her: snoozing and a little cranky when they ordered her to wake up and answer their questions. Though she had seemed momentarily pleased to see Serena again, after so long, and had expressed a desire that everyone would treat Cashlin as their own home, her congeniality quickly gave way to her exhaustion.

Raye remembered little of the previous night. With some prompting, she was able to confirm that she had dreamt of dancing, and that at first she had thought she was with Jadeite. Only late in the dream did he reveal himself to be a stranger. But that was all she recalled.

On her way out of the master suite, Serena had paused to examine a pair of shoes at the foot of the bed. Dancing shoes, torn to shreds.

Afterwards, she and the men—Endymion, Darien, Zoicite, Jadeite, and Melvin—gathered in the Cashlin throne room to try and come up with a solution, or a plan, but the time was mostly spent pacing and frowning at the floor.

The walls of the throne room were carved from the same white stone that embraced all of the castle, shimmering in the candlelight from white-washed antler chandeliers hanging overhead. Against the largest wall, seven steps led to a red-carpeted platform that displayed a single throne—a remnant from Beryl's time.

It did not take many trips back and forth across the throne room for Serena to decide that she would follow Raye that night to the underground castle. When she reached the lake, she would use one of the magic pearls to turn herself into a mermaid and swim across.

On land, she would again turn into a human and sneak inside.

It was at this point in her plans that she had no clue what would happen next.

She would have to avoid the sorcerer, of course, which meant she would also have to avoid the dancing princesses. Her goal was to find the imprisoned ladies and free them from their coffins. Which sounded simple enough, in theory, but she knew it would not be so easy.

How would she awaken them? A kiss would fit the fairy tale, clearly, but she doubted that a kiss from a Guardian would be as effective as a kiss from a prince, or one's true love. Perhaps she had to find a way to retrieve their hearts, but where would the sorcerer keep them? And how would she get them back into the girl's bodies? She did have magic, her Guardian powers, but it was a general, ambiguous sort of magic. She had only used it once, when she'd defeated the three traitorous Guardians back in Aysel. And then, she had felt more like a conduit for this supreme, uncontrollable power, rather than in control of it.

She had felt more that the magic had used _her._

She could hope, of course, that such a thing would transpire again. That she would find the imprisoned princesses and call forth her Guardian's power and it would just take over and do the job that needed doing.

But it was hardly a comforting prospect to go forth blindly with nothing more than _hope_.

"I know what you're thinking."

She turned to Darien, found him and Melvin loitering on the other side of the throne room from the princes. They'd been lent new clothes and Darien now wore a wool cloak and tunic. Without the jeans and T-shirt to distinguish him, he looked more like Endymion than ever.

With a sigh, she shook her head. "I don't think you know exactly what I'm thinking."

"I know you're planning on following her tonight. And that you're going to use the pearls."

"I have to."

"Have you figured out what you're going to do when you find them? Are you going to fight the sorcerer by yourself?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Well?"

"That's the part I was trying to figure out, for your information."

Darien dug his fingernails into the material of his new cloak. "I'm coming with you."

"No, you're not."

"Why not? You weren't planning on going alone, were you?"

"He has a point," interrupted Jadeite. "We still know very little about this sorcerer and what he's capable of, or what his motivations are. It would be unsafe for you to go alone, Serena."

"I don't care if it's safe or not. This world is my responsibility and I'm going down there, and I _am_ going alone. Look, Zoicite followed Amy last night and wasn't able to cross the lake either," she said, gesturing the prince who leaned against one marble wall, a deep frown etched into his features. "And I only have three pearls—if two people cross the lake, then they would need two pearls to get there and two to get back, and we don't have that many. Only one person can go."

"Why does it have to be you then? It's not like you're the quietest, most graceful person in the world," said Darien.

She glowered at him.

"Not to mention that you would be helpless if it came to fighting. Have you ever swung a sword in your life?"

"Have you?" Her voice was rising. "What makes you think that you're the best person to go with me, of all the people in this castle? Of all the guards? Not to mention the princes who have been trained in swordfighting."

"No, not to mention _them._"

Endymion cleared his throat, somewhat uncomfortably. "I could attend you," he said, gripping the sword handle at his side. "My memories of the past may be gone, but I seem to recall my sword training almost instinctively. I think I would be useful in a fight."

Zoicite pushed himself from the wall. "Regardless of who is most skilled in a fight, it is my wife now in danger."

"_Your_ wife?" barked Jadeite. "What about Raye?"

"Maybe we should all go," said Zoicite.

Serena threw her arms into the air. "No! No one is going with me. I will go to the castle by myself and find out what I find out."

"We do not know who the next princess will be," said Jadeite. "What if this is our last opportunity to follow Raye? To save her?"

"I could go with you," said Melvin.

Serena turned disbelieving eyes on him. "Are you serious?"

Pushing his glasses up on his nose, Melvin shook his head. "No, but I felt left out."

"_Serena!_"

Serena spun around, just as two sets of small arms wrapped around her waist. She found herself gaping down at two heads of shaggy blonde hair buried into her abdomen. "Hansel? Gretel?"

The two children raised their heart-shaped faces to her, beaming.

Darien quirked his eyebrow and turned to Melvin. "I thought Hansel and Gretel got eaten by a witch or something."

Melvin shrugged.

"They didn't," said Serena. "Honestly, Darien. You don't even know the stories."

Her attention was immediately transfixed on the children again, so she did not see Darien's flashing eyes, or how he stormed from the room with clenched fists.

Serena crouched down before Hansel and Gretel, taking their hands into hers. "Look how much you two have grown! Have you been getting along all right?"

Hansel nodded. "Madame Foxglove is teaching us arithmetic."

"And Mama Raye and Papa Jadeite are taking us to see the dwarfs next week," said Gretel, and her grin displayed a prominently absent front tooth.

"Well I'm sure they'll be very happy to see you," said Serena. But her smile fell almost instantly and she looked at Jadeite. "Jadeite, you haven't . . ."

"Haven't what?" he said, frowning at Serena's sudden anxiety.

"You haven't made Gretel a . . . a princess, have you?"

He blinked, glancing at the blonde-haired girl. "_Made_ her a princess? I don't understand."

"Have you officially adopted her—them?" Serena asked. "Because I know they weren't born royalty, but neither was Princess Briar Rose and that didn't stop her from . . ."

Relief flickered over the king's face, and he shook his head. "Oh, no. They live here with us, of course, but they aren't . . . we haven't made them our heirs, or anything. They're more like our niece and nephew, I guess."

Serena let out a sigh of relief, hoping it was enough to keep Gretel from becoming another victim of the sorcerer, and ruffled the children's hair. "Well, just keep an eye on her. If she appears abnormally sleepy, let me know."

A servant entered from the far end of the room. "Pardon the intrusion, Your Majesty. There is a lady who has requested your presence . . . and that of the Guardian."

"We are in an important meeting," said Jadeite.

"No, it's all right," said Serena. "Did she say what she wanted?"

"Only to speak with you. She seemed quite adamant."

"Fine. Show her in."

The servant clicked his heels and left, leaving a wake of silent tension behind him. The children were called away to their studies, and Serena promised to come see their nursery and playhouse before the day was over. Melvin bowed out soon afterwards, muttering something about studying himself, though Serena hardly noticed him go.

"Serena," said Zoicite, "we have not finished discussing who will go with you tonight."

"Yes, we have. I'm going alone."

"But—"

"I know," she said, raising a hand toward him. "I know you're worried about Amy. I know she's your wife, and your world, and she's pregnant, and I _have_ to find a way to bring her back. And keep Raye from being taken. And save everybody. I'm well aware of the stakes, Zoicite." She sighed, a mixture of sympathy and determation on her brow. "But you're just going to have to trust me on this—that the powers Lord Grimm gave me will be enough."

She could see him fighting himself, wanting to argue with her, while also wanting to trust her. "What can I do?" he finally said. "There must something I can do for her."

Serena inhaled slowly. "You can check your room again, make sure we haven't missed any clues."

And though Zoicite knew as well as she did that there would be nothing else to find, he nodded and left, a sliver of hope all he needed to propel him onward.

As Zoicite's steps faded away, Serena could feel Endymion's and Jadeite's gazes on her, but was unable to meet them. She wondered if she came off as hopeful and confident to them, or if her desperation was as evident on the surface as it was inside.

The servant returned, and Serena was grateful for the distraction. "Lady Emerald," he announced in the doorway.

A woman entered the room with a polite nod at the servant. She had forest green hair, befitting her name, that flowed in loose curls over her shoulders. Her eyes, thick-lashed, were warm amber, which contrasted sharply with her pale complexion. She was slender and tall, but her figure was mature and would have been buxom if it wasn't hidden beneath a conservative muslin gown.

She curtsied deeply when she stood before the group. "My apologies for the interruption, Your Majesty, Lady Guardian."

Jadeite rose from his throne. "What can we do for you, my lady?"

"I heard that the Guardian of Happy Endings had come to Cashlin and was hoping I might seek your guidance. I would not normally bother you with my own problems, but . . . it involves an innocent human being, a citizen of Cashlin. And I have done everything in my power to try and help him but . . . it involves magic, you see. And I know nothing of it." As she spoke, her voice began to take on hints of sadness, even hysteria.

Serena held her hands up. "You're going to have to start from the beginning."

Emerald lowered her eyes to the tile floor. "Of course. It began last winter when I met and befriended two brothers. They were the sons of the royal librarian, who died some years ago. I do not know if His Majesty knew him. . . ."

Jadeite shook his head. "Though perhaps my wife met him when she was young."

"Well, in either case, I grew close to these brothers. They were both so kind to me and by this past spring, the younger brother and I . . . his name is Sapphire . . . we, well, we fell in love." She clutched her hands together, almost pleadingly. "But then Diamond—that's his brother—began to act strange. Sapphire said that he was dabbling in black arts. He'd been practicing sorcery for many years, but never anything harmful or dangerous, but for some reason. . . . and he so often seemed angry. Bitter." Her voice fell to a near-whisper. "And then, over a month ago, they both disappeared."

She glanced up at Serena, and there was terror in her gaze.

"I have not seen either of them since. I have looked . . . I have asked everyone who knew them."

"What do you think happened?"

Emerald hesitated only briefly. "I think Diamond hurt his brother, somehow. With his witchcraft. I don't know what to do. I had hoped . . . as a Guardian, you could . . ." She trailed off, her lower lip trembling.

Serena slowly shook her head. "How do you know they aren't dead?"

"Who could kill his own brother?"

"An evil sorcerer?"

"No," Emerald said with rigid certainty. "Sapphire is not dead. I still dream of him."

Serena wanted to say, _I know those dreams. I've had those dreams. It does not mean he is still alive, or will ever return._

But those words did not seem appropriate anymore, with Endymion standing with her in that very room. Endymion—who she could not look at for fear he was an illusion that would vanish before her eyes. For fear she would find it all a trick.

"Had he hurt anybody before, to your knowledge?"

"I'm not sure. I never saw any magic myself, though Sapphire did tell me once that he thought. . . . This will sound silly, but he thought Diamond had turned their cat into an owl. So I guess Diamond was practicing . . . transformations."

"Transformations," Serena mused, thinking of the sorcerer in the tower, and the book that Melvin had found. "What did Diamond look like?"

"Oh, very handsome," she said. "Tall, with whitish-silver hair. And his eyes . . . he had the most piercing blue-gray eyes you've ever seen. They were . . . well, in some lights they looked like diamonds."

Serena pushed back her bangs with both hands. "Oh god. It's him."

"Him? Who? You know him?"

"Yes. Well. Pretty sure. And the man I met was definitely in control of black magic."

"Perhaps we can go to him then," Emerald said, face brightening with hope. "We can ask him what happened to Sapphire. You can convince him—"

Serena held up her hand. "Hold on. I don't . . . I have to think about all this." She started to pace the room. "This sorcerer, this Diamond, is causing a lot more trouble than you realize. His cruelty has gone far past his brother."

Jadeite rose from his throne. "You think this Diamond is the sorcerer behind the kidnappings?"

"Yes. The descriptions match. The fact that he can change shape . . . to a sea serpent, or a fairy, or . . . or even to make himself look like other people. I think that's how he's tricking the girls into following him. It's part of the spell, that he makes himself look like you, like the people they love."

"Wait, what is this about kidnappings?" asked Emerald. "What is it you think he's done?"

"Lady Serena, come quick!" Hansel cried from the doorway. The boy darted into the throne room, wide-eyed and breathless, and latched onto Serena's skirt.

"Hansel, what—?"

"It's Gretel. Something's wrong with her. She started saying how she was so tired and went to take a nap, and now I can't wake her up. I've tried everything!"

Dread filled the pit of Serena's stomach. A murmur ran through the gathered crowd.

Jadeite was already half way to the door when the metallic sound of a sword being pulled from its sheath stopped him.

Serena gasped as the point of the sword found its way to Hansel's throat. The little boy's jaw dropped, his eyes widening as they traced the blade to its handle.

"Step away from her," Endymion said, his tone low and threatening.

"Endymion—what are you doing?" Serena hissed. She felt Hansel release her skirts, but the boy was frozen with fear.

Jadeite yelled for the guards.

Endymion remained with his sword ready to slaughter the child, his blue eyes calculating, unmoving from his victim. "It is a trick."

Without allowing herself time to think or hesitate, Serena pulled Hansel back from the sword point. Her heart thudded as she shoved the child behind her and again felt him grasping her skirts. Endymion tensed, but did not attack. His gaze was still on the little boy who now peered fearfully around Serena's legs.

"Think, Serena," said Endymion. "The little girl was fine. It does not fit the pattern for her to become sleepy in the middle of the day like that."

Serena gulped. Her voice was shaking as she answered, "We do not know everything about the spell, or the sorcerer. We don't know—"

"Listen! It isn't him. Why would _he_ come to get you instead of their governess? Why would he come to _you,_ and not the king? Why would he call you Lady?"

Head spinning, Serena stood her ground. She could hear the clomping of boots as guards arrived, but they were drowned out by the clamoring of her thoughts.

She had no reason to trust this man. She did not know who he was. And now he had tried to kill Hansel, an innocent child. He . . . he wasn't . . .

A shrill laugh sent ice through Serena's veins. Behind her, Hansel released her skirts, still laughing, and Endymion wasted no time in reaching forward and pulling Serena behind him, again lowering his sword to Hansel's throat. But the boy just kept laughing.

"What a brilliant prince you have," Hansel said between chuckles. Serena shuddered. "No wonder you were so desperate for him to return to you."

Hansel disappeared in a cloud of black smoke and when it dissipated, Serena found herself staring at grinning blue eyes.

Endymion shifted his sword to match his foe's new height, but otherwise remained frozen, ready to strike.

"My, you are something," Diamond said, admiring the prince. "My finest spell yet, to be sure. I must confess, I was not certain it would work at first, but again I have proven myself to be the most powerful sorcerer that ever lived."

Serena gaped, first at the sorcerer, then at Endymion. Together. In one room.

She inched closer to the prince, closer to them both.

"What do you mean, your finest spell?"

Diamond did not remove his gaze from Endymion, though he did not seem at all worried about the sword at his throat. "The spell of resurrection, my dear Guardian. The gift of returning a man from the world of the dead to the world of the living."

A shiver coursed through Serena; goose bumps covered her skin. She looked again at Endymion. His expression was as cold as stone. He did not look at Serena, but she was sure he felt her analysis upon him. She wet her lips.

_The spell of resurrection._

"No," she said with a sharp shake of her head. "It isn't possible. Even Lord Grimm couldn't bring him back from the dead. Even . . . even I couldn't . . ."

Diamond snorted. "Lord Grimm and his band of measly storytellers are a disgrace, powerless before their own creations. There are things I can do which your Lord Grimm could not begin to comprehend. And now I can even bring the dead back to life—and in this case, the dead has surpassed even my expectations."

His lips turned upward and he folded his arms smugly over his chest. "There was the possibility that I would not be able to bring him back fully formed. I was afraid that he would return with, say, only one leg. Or he could have had beady frog eyes, leftover from the first part of the spell. Or—" Diamond let out a boisterous laugh. "Or he could have come back without his heart. How terrifically ironic that would have been."

Serena clenched her jaw. She wanted to reach out to Endymion.

Could it really be true? Was this really her Endymion, returned from the dead?

She could feel joy filling up her heart, expanding to the point of breaking. Her legs barely held her. The world was spinning with the knowledge—_it was him_.

As much as she despised the sorcerer, he had given her back her prince.

But she dared not touch Endymion. He still had not moved; his expression had not softened. He was prepared to kill in this moment, should Diamond make a false move.

"His memory," she mused. There was a flicker in Endymion's eyes, but he did not look at her. "The spell wasn't complete. He does not have his memory."

Diamond scratched his chin. "His memory? Ah . . . so my spell was not perfect. What a shame. I will have to try it again someday. I always strive for perfection."

"Enough of this," said Jadeite. "Is this the man tormenting our kingdoms?"

"He is," said Serena."

"Guards, kill him!"

The room stirred as a dozen guards drew their weapons.

"_Wait!_"

The cry came both from Serena and Lady Emerald. They looked at each other. Emerald had gone pale as the room's marble walls. Her amber eyes overflowed with panic.

Serena gulped and turned away, focusing on Jadeite. "We can't kill him. If he dies, the enchantment protecting the princesses will be destroyed, and we may never be able to rescue them."

Eyes widening, Jadeite held up his hand, a silent command to his soldiers.

Serena looked again at the sorcerer, expecting a smug grin at his check mate, but he seemed as if he had not even heard her.

He was staring at Lady Emerald.

"Diamond?" Emerald said, her voice wavering.

"Why, my lady," he said, bowing stiffly as another wicked grin spread to his eyes, "what a treat to see you again—lovely as ever."

Clenching her hands, Emerald took an uncertain step toward the sorcerer.

But when Diamond held a hand out to her, Endymion stepped between them, barring his way with his sword.

"You will not touch her."

Diamond froze, his fingers curling. "Won't I?"

Unhindered by Endymion's sword, Emerald took another tentative step forward, tears glistening. "Diamond. It is . . . I have been so worried. So scared."

"But why? I am perfectly well."

"But where is S-Sapphire?"

The sorcerer's eyes darkened, but then he chuckled. "Sapphire? Why, I haven't the slightest idea. You don't mean to say he has left you? That is very ungentlemanly of him." He ran his tongue along his lower lip. "Come closer, dear—let me look at you . . . and your beautiful heart."

The sorcerer made to move again toward Emerald, but was met with Endymion's sword in the hollow of his throat, drawing a drop of crimson blood. Diamond did not even flinch.

"Please," said Emerald. "I must know. Where is he? What have you done to him?"

Diamond pulled away from the sword, away from Emerald. "He is not worth crying for, my lady. You should forget him."

The first tear spilled over onto Emerald's pale cheek. "But I cannot," she whispered.

"Well. We shall see." With a sniff of disgust, Diamond shrugged his cloak back and shifted his gaze to Endymion. "Enjoy the land of the living while you can, Prince Charming. It will not be long before I have no more need of you."

Then he cast his hateful glare toward Serena, meeting first her eyes, and then glancing down at her sternum. She instinctively raised a hand to her heart. It throbbed painfully beneath her skin.

"Well, that is an improvement," muttered the sorcerer. He reached out his long fingers toward Serena's chest.

In a blink, Endymion swung his sword down toward the man's arm.

It would have been a clean cut at the wrist if Diamond had not vanished, leaving the sword to slice harmlessly through billowing black smoke.

* * *

_please review._

_Sign up for my newsletter at aliciablade dot com. This week's topics: published fanfiction authors AND incorporating setting description without going overboard.  
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	10. The Glass Coffins

Thanks to all reviewers! I love hearing your theories and hope the story will continue to be filled with surprises.

And huge thanks to KaitlynFall for beta-ing!

Return to Aysel: Another Grimm Tale  
Alicia Blade

Chapter 10: The Glass Coffins_  
Snow White lay a long, long time in the coffin, and  
she did not change, but looked as if she were asleep._  
from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs

Serena could not stop shaking as she stared at the empty air before her, where Diamond had stood. Tendrils of smoke still laced the air. Hand pressed to her chest, Serena could feel the erratic thumping of her heart. Could feel the hot blood pulsing beneath her skin. Though Endymion's sword had kept Diamond from touching her, she still sensed his ice-cold fingers reaching for her heart, gripping it, pulling it from her chest.

The vision of her mother dangling in the sorcerer's arms replayed again and again in her mind. She was going to be sick.

"Are you all right?"

She yanked her gaze away from the nothingness. Endymion was watching her, his eyes sharp with worry.

"Endymion," she murmured. "It-it's really you."

He took an unsteady breath and sheathed his sword. "For the time being, it seems."

"What do you mean?"

"His last words to me: 'Enjoy the land of the living while you can.' Do you think if he had the power to bring me back, he could just as easily kill me again?"

A thorn pierced Serena's heart; she gasped from the pang. "No—I won't let him," she said, her voice bordering hysteria.

Endymion blinked with surprise, then reached out for her as she swayed on her feet. She was almost grateful for the sudden spinning of the floor beneath her, grateful for the excuse to lean into Endymion's arms. "You need to rest," he said, pressing his fingers against her flushed cheek. "You've been through too much."

She shook her head. "I need to go check on Hansel and Gretel. Make sure they're okay. That the sorcerer didn't do anything to them."

"Lady Guardian?"

Serena looked past Endymion's arms. Emerald, her face pale and lined with spent tears, stood meekly before her. She felt Endymion's arms stiffen, but he did not hesitate to release her when Serena pulled from his embrace.

"Are _you_ all right?" she said to the girl.

"Yes," Emerald said, though Serena doubted her. "I know now that Sapphire is alive. If Diamond had killed him, he would have said so. Please . . . you will help me, won't you? You will try to find him?"

If it had not been for the gray aura over Emerald's head, Serena may have had the power to explain to Emerald that rescuing the princesses would have to be her top priority. That she had no idea how to find Sapphire. That maybe she was wrong—maybe Diamond had killed his brother and just did not have the heart to tell her so.

But as it was, all she could do was fake a weary smile. "I will do my best."

"My lady," said Jadeite, stepping toward them. "One of my guards will escort you back into town and ensure your protection." He turned to Serena. "I will come with you to check on Hansel and Gretel."

She nodded. "Endymion?" A glance at the prince found him startled from a deep reverie.

"No, go without me. The sorcerer's words have given me much to think about, and I could use some fresh air."

The worry on Endymion's face made Serena's heart ache. She reached forward and squeezed his hand, wanting to say how purely happy she was that he was with her now, how grateful she was that he'd seen through Diamond's spell, how sorry she was that she hadn't trusted him at first, and that even now she didn't know what to say or how to act. She wanted to say that if only he remembered her, if only he were to look at her and smile at her as he once had, she would throw herself into his arms and never let him go.

But the words would not come.

Endymion squeezed her hand back, and she hoped he understood.

* * *

Serena followed a step behind Jadeite on their way to the nursery. It was not far, and the sounds of innocent laughter floating down the corridor filled Serena with bright relief.

But upon entering the nursery and seeing Darien sitting on a sofa with Hansel and Gretel perched on either side of him, Serena froze, and the relief that had flooded her veins was replaced with an aching she could not explain—interlaced with an unexpected jolt of guilt.

"Papa Jadeite!" Gretel cried, hopping off the sofa and running into Jadeite's arms. He lifted her easily, crushing her in his embrace.

Darien looked up from the book in his lap, smiling first at Jadeite and then at Serena who still loitered in the doorway. His smile faltered. "What's wrong?"

Serena swallowed around the sudden dryness in her throat. "What are you doing?"

"Reading." Darien showed her the cover of the book—_The History of Cashlin. _"Did you know this castle was built by dwarfs? Chiseled out with hammers and pick-axes. It's amazing."

Having seen the dwarfs at work before, Serena was not stunned by the fact. Still, there was something disconcerting about Darien so readily accepting the dwarfs and their history in the fairy-tale world. Darien dressed in cloak and boots. Darien with a freckle-faced Hansel leaning against his shoulder.

Hansel pointed at the open page of the book. "Tell her about the king who was part-bear."

Darien chuckled. "Serena probably knows about it already. She knows all the stories." Then, to Serena, "These history books here are a lot more fascinating than in our world." He was flipping back through the pages in search of the bear king when Jadeite sat in an overstuffed chair and called Hansel to his side. Hansel obeyed, scampering to the king and crawling up in his lap opposite his sister.

Darien stopped turning pages and looked up, watching with an uncertain frown as Jadeite stared hard at each child in turn. "Are you both all right?" Jadeite said. "Has anything happened since you left the throne room?"

Gretel shook her head. "Madame Foxglove just told us to read our history books, and then Master Darien came and read to us."

Releasing a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, Serena sank against the doorframe. Diamond had not been near them—it had just been to fool her, to frighten her.

"What happened?" Darien said, shutting the book and standing.

"The sorcerer came to the throne room," she answered. "He disguised himself as Hansel, to fool us. But Endymion saw through the disguise."

Surprise registered on Darien's face. "Is everyone okay?"

"Yes. He didn't hurt anyone, or even try to."

Darien watched her, clearly expecting something more. Because there _was_ more, and Darien could always tell when Serena was keeping something from him.

She cleared her throat.

"He has the power to bring people back from the dead." She nearly choked on the words. "That's how . . . he—he's responsible for Endymion. He brought Endymion back. I-I don't know why, but . . . it's really him."

Tears were clogging her voice, but she forced them back.

Darien was expressionless for a long moment, before saying, quietly but honestly, "That's wonderful, Sere. That's . . . that's what you wanted."

She took in a trembling breath and dropped her gaze.

Yes. It was good. It was wonderful. It was what she wanted.

"You should go lay down," Darien said, moving toward her. "You look exhausted. Are you—?"

He pressed his fingers against her cheek, not unlike the way Endymion had touched her. She gasped and pulled back, nearly stumbling over the doorjamb. Darien froze. Hurt flashed through his eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said, hating herself. Hating the pain and dejection Darien was trying to hide. "It's just . . . Endymion . . . and you . . ."

Darien's hand fell limply to his side.

Heart tearing in two, Serena turned and escaped into the castle's labyrinth.

* * *

Raye had been asleep for at least an hour. Serena could not tell if Jadeite was also asleep yet. He appeared tense and uncomfortable in the large bed, but his eyes had been firmly closed and Serena thought that his breathing appeared regular, if not deep. She tried to retain her focus, tried to plot the mission to come, but could not keep her mind from wandering. At least she had managed to steal a few minutes of sleep that afternoon and was no longer fighting with both confused thoughts _and _mental fatigue.

Now, waiting for Raye to awaken, she was as ready to face the sorcerer as she was ever going to be. She had borrowed a vial and some twine from Jadeite and had the pearls secured around her neck. She had a shortsword at her waist. She was glad to be doing something useful instead of just loitering around the castle, waiting for Diamond to claim his next victim.

And yet, she was not really thinking about the sorcerer and the princesses, or even her mom. In truth, her thoughts bounced between only two topics.

Endymion.

And Darien.

Endymion.

Darien.

Endymion was real. He was her Endymion, returned to life. She was happy. She was thrilled. She was delighted.

But then why was she also so miserable?

She wanted to pull her hair out and scream. She wanted to collapse to the ground and cry. She desperately wanted to be held—but by whose arms? Thus, the torture would begin again.

Until, finally, a distraction came.

Raye stirred, almost imperceptibly at first, her long lashes opening to reveal dark eyes in the moonlight. She turned her head to look at Jadeite, who did not move, and then she climbed out of the bed.

Serena, hidden inside Raye's wardrobe, watched as Raye dressed in a lovely gown that had been hung on a full-length mirror, slipped on a new pair of shoes, and approached her vanity. She disappeared through the mirror as easily as stepping through an open doorway, her reflection shimmering and welcoming her inside. Serena counted to five and followed after her.

The staircase hadn't changed. The same dreary, shadowed walls loomed before her. The same candle sconces flickered and licked at the walls.

Raye had already rounded the nearest corner; her footsteps could be heard faintly in the distance. Serena took a calming breath and followed. Again, she tried her best to be silent, creeping on tiptoes with one hand to balance her against the cave's walls.

The stairs seemed even longer than before, but finally she could make out the steady sloshing of waves and the scent of salt and a mild breeze, and she knew that the underground lake was near.

The sorcerer was waiting again beside his rowboat. Serena watched around the corner of the cave's opening as Raye approached him and was lifted with infinite gentleness onto the raft.

Instead of departing, though, the sorcerer waited—his hands clasped behind his back. Serena felt her heart stop, and briefly knew—_knew—_that he had seen her. That he was waiting for her. That he would come for her.

But then she heard noises. Footsteps. Coming down the stairs. Her heart lurched with panic. She pressed herself tight against the wall, but it was no use. There was nowhere to hide, nowhere to flee. If she ran out toward the lake, the sorcerer would spot her. If she ran up the stairs, she would run right into whoever was coming down them.

A shadow loomed up on a wall as the unknown person made their way around the final bend. Serena held her breath.

Not one, but two girls appeared on the steps above her, their hands linked. They both had long pale hair and swanlike necks and were short and slender, almost childlike. Serena instantly knew that they were the two girls Zoicite had seen. And she was sure, seeing them now, that one of them was also the mystery girl who had been in the boat the first time Serena had come to the underground castle, when she had followed Mina and Cytherea.

But which one was it? And how many nights had she been taken?

How was one girl able to fight the sorcerer's power for so long?

The girls' eyes were fixed on the stairs as they walked past. The skirt of the girl closest to Serena brushed against her legs, but she did not pause. She did not seem to realize Serena was there at all, just walked right past her like a sleepwalker, or a phantom.

And it was then that Serena saw the point of an ear poking up from the girl's long hair and realized she was an elf. They were both elves.

Serena released her breath as the girls passed.

After helping the girls into the boat, the sorcerer pushed off from land and rowed them toward the glowing castle with broad, easy strokes. Serena watched them go, waiting until the sorcerer and his guests had alighted on land and disappeared into the castle before slipping off her shoes and dressing down to her cotton slip. She left her clothes in the stairwell and hurried to the lake.

She reached for the pearls at her neck as she stepped into the water, feeling the coolness slide up over her ankles and calves, and the mud squishing between her toes.

There was fear, of course. Terror, even. Growing up, Serena had pretended to be a mermaid a hundred times, but she had never _really_ imagined it. She hadn't bothered with such trivial questions as: How do they breathe? Or, Do they instinctively know how to swim, or do they need to learn, like how babies learn to walk?

She tried not to dwell on these things as she sunk up to her shoulders in the water, shut her eyes tight, and set one of the pearls on her tongue. She had only enough time to notice the taste of shellfish before she tilted her head back and gulped the pearl down.

The effect was quick. A tingling in her hips that began to burn and then ache, all through her pelvis and thighs and calves and toes. The ache was followed by an excruciating pain, like someone drawing a hot poker up the insides of her legs, and Serena cried out, grasping at the wet sand that eluded her. A lesser pain shot through her cheekbones and down the sides of her jaw and she cupped her cool, wet hands over her face to ease the burning.

But no sooner had she touched the sensitive skin than the pain disappeared.

Her breath was short when she opened her eyes. She was surprised to notice that tears had been squeezed out of them, but that surprise was quick to fade when she realized that she was wholly underwater.

She gasped, then panicked, then froze when she realized that water had not rushed in to choke her. She exhaled. Tiny bubbles erupted from the gills in front of her ears. She ran a finger along the tiny openings in her flesh, then let it travel down her neck and chest. She still wore her slip. It clung to her skin . . . and her scales.

She pulled the wet material up to her waist and marveled at the seamless way in which her mermaid's tale blended into the white skin of her abdomen. Her belly button was intact, but there was no sign of her legs, only a long, silver-scaled tail that skimmed the sand beneath her.

Serena's underwater journey to the castle was neither graceful nor simple. There was skill to be learned in controlling her new tail and she struggled to move in a straight line. Plus there was the constant fear that some foul fairy-tale sea creature would come up from the depths and swallow her whole, but the water remained empty and peaceful.

She finally found herself emerging in shallow waters again and when she looked up, the outline of the golden castle shimmered in the water's surface like sunshine. She crawled up onto the sand and the magic took over. The pain that had been almost forgotten during her swim returned as horribly as before and Serena had to bite her tongue to keep from crying out, but in mere moments she was crawling on hands and knees in the scratchy sand.

She had not considered the psychological effect of wandering into the sorcerer's castle dressed in nothing more than a flimsy, wet cotton slip. She could not imagine feeling more uncomfortable as she crept toward the castle doors, desperately trying to unstick the cloth from her thighs and brush the sand from her shins.

Next time, if there was a next time, she would be better prepared.

There were twelve wide steps leading up to the doors, and Serena climbed them with her heart racing, jumping at every sound, glancing over her shoulder at every breeze. But she managed to reach the top, open the door, and slip inside without event.

The interior of the castle was as bright as the exterior. The walls seemed to be made of pure gold that flickered warmly in a chorus of candlelight. There was another grand staircase immediately before Serena, the base of it taking up nearly the entire foyer, and Serena could hear orchestra music from above. To her left and right were closed doors, and while Serena was tempted to explore them, she knew that the sorcerer and the princesses would be found where the music was. And so, knees shaking and bare feet slapping on the marble floor, she slowly climbed the steps.

The only division between the landing and the massive ballroom was a series of large pillars draped with black velvet curtains. Serena darted behind one of these curtains, only daring to peek around it when she was sure she hadn't been spotted.

The ballroom—which was larger than Serena's entire neighborhood block—was lined on three sides with floor-to-ceiling windows, and in the center of the room was a huge glass dome opening up to the vast cavern outside. The floor was marble tiles and a dozen glorious chandeliers dangled from the ceiling, sending mini rainbows over the walls. Across the room there was a high dais, presumably meant for a throne, although its only furnishing was a long wood table.

The sorcerer had shed his whitish silver hair for golden blonde and now had the likeness and posture of Prince Jadeite as he danced with Raye. She kept in time, gracefully spinning and twirling at his gentle, silent commands.

The two elf girls were also dancing, but they were moving as if they, too, were partnered—though their partners were invisible.

There was still music, a classic waltz, but Serena had no idea where it was coming from.

And then she spotted the coffins.

They were lined on the far wall—twelve in all. They all looked like the glass coffin that the dwarfs had once constructed for Raye—mahogany wood bases with intricate carvings of animals and flowers and celestial bodies, and curved clear-glass tops. Even from such a distance, Serena could see motionless forms in the first eight.

The waltz ended. The sorcerer released Raye, allowing her to dance off by herself, and then took hold of one of the elf girls and slipped into the role of her partner—a short, pale-haired elf man—without missing a beat.

When the sorcerer had his back to her, Serena darted to the next pillar. And waited. And, when he had spun around yet again, she darted to the next. In this way, she steadily made her way to the first glass coffin.

It was Briar Rose, her porcelain skin glowing in the castle's golden light.

Serena ducked down behind the coffin, fire coursing through her veins. What right did this man, this sorcerer, this monster, have to do this to them?

She crept to the next coffin. Inside lay Lita, her auburn hair framing her slightly smiling face.

And then there was Queen Luna, looking as content and pleased as ever.

And then . . .

Serena could not contain a sob, and quickly ducked to her mother's side. The dancing continued without pause.

She looked just as Serena remembered her. Better, perhaps. She looked happy—truly happy. There was a rosiness to her features that Serena rarely saw, and a peacefulness settled upon her still frame that spoke of happily ever after.

The music stopped mid-bar.

Her heart skipped and Serena looked up toward the sorcerer, sure she had been discovered, but he was looking at the three captured girls, not her.

Throat drying, she hid behind her mother's coffin and watched. The three girls pulled back away from the sorcerer, teetering uncertainly on the balls of their feet as if they had no idea what to do without the music.

The sorcerer, who still looked like an elf, paced around the girls with a wicked grin. He paused before one of the elf girls. Her eyelids looked heavy. Her body swayed as if she would collapse. But she tried to smile.

The sorcerer reached out and grasped her wrist. Then there was an odd shimmering over him, and when it ended he had taken his natural form, with his white hair and pale skin and diamond eyes. The girl's expression changed from kind and curious to shocked. She let out an abrupt cry and tried to back away, but he did not release his grip.

"What is it, my lady?" he growled sarcastically. "Don't you want to dance anymore?"

She stilled her retreat.

"My lady," Diamond continued, his voice dropping, as he reached out a hand and placed it against her chest. "Don't you see? Your trial is nearly over. You were much easier to break than your sister. A mere two nights of dancing with your loved one is all it took."

The elf girl shuddered.

Diamond's smile grew.

"Ah, you understand. Your heart belongs to me now."

Serena placed a hand over her own thrumming heart, unsure that she had heard the sorcerer correctly.

_Your heart belongs to me now. _

The elf looked almost as shocked as Serena felt and only stared at the sorcerer for a long, still moment.

And then she screamed.

A pained, agonized, bone-breaking scream.

Serena, sick to her stomach, shrank against her mother's coffin as the sorcerer magically punctured the elf's chest and pulled his hand back, revealing her throbbing heart in his grip.

The gray aura over the girl's head turned ink-black, and then began to shrink until it was no bigger than a candle flame. When Diamond pulled a dark box from his cloak and put the heart inside it, like a precious gift, the small black aura stayed with the the heart, leaving the girl hollow.

No heart. No destiny. No future.

The wound healed itself. The screaming stopped. The girl's eyes dimmed, then closed, and she collapsed to the floor.

Serena clutched one hand over her mouth to keep her own screaming at bay, and another over her stomach to still its churning.

Then the sorcerer turned to Raye.

Raye backed away, but her movements were sluggish. She was so pale, and trembling, as the sorcerer stalked toward her and placed his hand to her chest.

Hopeless, useless, Serena could not watch. She crouched behind the coffin and covered her ears, but they did little to block out the scream.

And then the silence—which was worse.

The moments passed as Serena tried to steady her own breathing.

Footsteps startled her, coming closer, and she realized that the sorcerer was bringing the two heartless bodies toward the coffins. She tried to curl herself into a tiny ball, crouched down behind her mother's coffin, afraid even to breathe. There were four more coffins between her mother's and the first empty one—those containing Mina, Cytherea, the mermaid Sirenetta, and Amy. But as she heard the sorcerer coming steadily closer, the distance separating them was small consolation. She watched as his shadow loomed across the marble floor.

Once she heard the sorcerer pause, she could not resist lifting her head, barely, to peer through the glass that covered her mother's body. Diamond's image was distorted on the other side, but she could tell that he was opening the first of the coffins and laying Raye inside. He took his time, gazing down upon her with morbid delight, and perhaps even adoration. There was no sign of blood, not even a rip in her beautiful gown.

So this was black magic.

He adjusted her arms to rest upon her stomach. Then he returned the lid to its resting place and Serena heard the click of the glass sliding into place, locking Raye away from the rest of the world—for the second time in her life.

He performed the same ritual with the elf, then turned to her still-standing sister.

She met his gaze. Her eyes were ebony black and fearless, though when the sorcerer approached her, she too wobbled from exhaustion.

"My lady," the sorcerer said, tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow. She flinched at the touch, but did not pull away. "You see how much easier this could be if you would submit? Your trial could be over too."

She stared at him blankly, as if she did not hear his words. Then her empty eyes turned to the coffins, landing on the form of her sister.

"The morning comes," said Diamond, guiding her toward the door.

Her blank gaze remained on her sister until she'd been pulled off the landing.

No sooner had the sorcerer's footsteps disappeared into the foyer did Serena set to work. She examined her mother's coffin. She felt around for a latch but rather found only a small notch in the coffin's rim that she could slip her fingers into in order to get leverage on the lid.

So simple, really. It seemed too easy.

The lid was heavy, but not impossibly so. With a grunt, she managed to pull the lid up and slide it open until there was enough space for her to reach her mother. Still, the opening was not big enough to get her out. Serena paused, caught her breath, and then shoved the glass lid with all her might. The lid crashed to the marble floor with a horrendous bang. Serena cried out, but the glass did not shatter.

"Whoa—what kind of glass is this?"

"Glass crafted by dwarfs, of course."

She started and spun around.

The sorcerer approached her slowly, his eyes glowing as they scanned her from head to toe. She pushed herself as far as she could into the coffin and felt her near-nakedness all too evident. Though her slip was almost dry now, it was still only a thin, sleeveless shift that did not even reach her knees.

"Welcome, Guardian," the sorcerer said. "I knew it was only a matter of time before you found your way."

Using the coffin as a prop, Serena carefully lifted herself to standing. How had she not heard him returning up the stairs? How had she allowed herself to be caught, to be discovered? Why had he returned, so soon?

The elf girl was nowhere to be seen.

"Tell me, Guardian, _Princess_." His dark lips sneered at the term. "What brings you to my humble palace?"

She gulped. "I came here to stop you." It sounded cheesy to her even before she said it. "I will not allow you to continue to steal these princesses, or their hearts. You . . . you cannot keep them here against their will!"

"Ah, but they come here of their own free will. And their hearts . . . well, they are more like gifts to me, really. I've never stolen a heart in my life. At least . . . not yet."

"We both know that's a lie. You brainwash them."

His eyes passed over her body. "It is all in one's perspective."

"Well my perspective is that you're kidnapping these innocent girls and murdering them to use for your own—"

"Murder?" The sorcerer sniffed. "I assure you, they are quite alive. I will show you their hearts if you wish, so you may see how they still throb." His words ended in a drawl, his tongue lapping at his lips as if the still-beating hearts were a delicacy.

He neared Serena, patiently, stalking his prey. She backed away, her calves pressed against the coffin. When Diamond could almost touch her, she turned and darted to the nearest wall and grabbed a tapered candle from a sconce. As she threw it at the sorcerer, aiming for his face, she recalled that this was once the weapon she had used in her fight against Beryl.

What a disaster that had turned out to be.

The candle extinguished in its flight, but it at least distracted Diamond for a moment. He snarled and swatted it away, and Serena ran.

She flew out of the ballroom, past the curtains, and could hear him tearing after her. Serena did not even feel the stairs beneath her feet as she soared down them—for all she knew, she jumped over them completely—and then she was at the massive wooden doors. Something breezed past her back, stirring the flimsy material. Fingertips?

Down the second set of steps. Out onto the sand.

The small boat was still there and inside sat the elf girl, watching Serena with wide, dark eyes. She splashed past her and dove headfirst into the water. A hand gripped her ankle.

She came up screaming and kicking as the sorcerer pulled her back toward land and realized with sickening dread that he was laughing. He did not seem annoyed or worried or even out of breath.

Unable to dislodge his grip, she unscrewed the small vial around her neck, hastily dropped a pearl onto her tongue, and gulped it down with a mouthful of salty water.

There was the same tingling, then burning; the melting of flesh and bone.

The sorcerer released her. Her slippery tail slid easily from his grip.

His laughter seemed to only grow louder, amused—as if he were winning a game.

She ignored him. With every ounce of strength left, she flopped over in the water and pushed herself out into the depths. She did not stop swimming until she'd safely reached the other side.

* * *

Jadeite was still asleep when Serena stepped through the mirror.

She could not keep the guilt away. Though she'd done all she could, and it was not her fault she had failed to keep Raye from her fate, the knowledge did little to assuage her shame. She felt like the sorcerer had ripped out her heart, too.

She dressed slowly in the dark. She had been too afraid to pause on the beach or in the stairwell, so she had merely grabbed her discarded dress and shoes and rushed up the steps as quickly as she could.

Pulling the cotton gown over her head, she felt her still-wet slip clinging to her body and bunching around her hips. She sat in the overstuffed chair by the window, the first rays of the sun turning the sky orange and violet, and waited.

When the king finally awoke, he did so quickly. Stirring, then jolting upward in the bed when the memory of the previous night came crashing down on him.

He saw Serena.

He reached out his hand, felt the empty hollow of the bed beside him.

"I'm going to bring her back, Jadeite."

Jadeite inhaled a shuddering breath. A heart-wrenching, agonized kind of breath. He could not look at her as his fingers clawed at the sheets.

"I need your help, Jadeite. I need to go see the elves."

He managed to meet her gaze. "The elves?"

"The sorcerer is now after an elf princess. I need to find her."

Jadeite said nothing for a moment as he struggled to think amidst the torrent of heartbreak. Finally, he shook his head. "I do not know where the elves live."

Serena shut her eyes and rubbed at her brow. How much time would be wasted trying to find the elf girl?

"But," said Jadeite, "I'm sure the dwarfs would know."

* * *

_please review._


	11. Torn

A reviewer asked who Cytherea saw when she danced with the sorcerer, and as it won't come up again in the story, the answer is that she saw Malachite.

There was also a question about length. This story is a grand total of 21 chapters. So we're half way through!

Thanks to all reviewers and my marvelous beta, KaitlynFall.

Return to Aysel: Another Grimm Tale  
Alicia Blade

Chapter 11: Torn_  
He told her that he had been an enchanted frog and that  
she had broken the spell by promising to be his sweetheart._  
from The Frog Prince

Serena staggered back to her guest quarters, heavy with the weight of the night before. Memories pressed upon her—Raye's heart stolen, her aura shriveling into a small black seed, her body limp and pale in the coffin.

And Amy, and her mother, and little Cytherea . . .

Ten girls in all.

The other elf girl, the one with the sad, dark eyes, would make eleven.

If this really was the story of the twelve dancing princesses retelling itself, then who would be the twelfth girl?

She placed a nervous hand against her chest, remembering Diamond's words, his threats—the way his piercing eyes gazed at her like a prized morsel.

She halted in the castle corridor. Diamond's words from Aysel tower echoed back at her.

_I have never known a heart quite like yours. But you have it locked up so very tight. Tighter even than that pesky elf girl. However will I be able to take it?_

"Endymion," she whispered to the marble walls.

She understood, suddenly, why he'd brought Endymion back to life. He needed her to open her heart again, so that he could steal it from her.

But no—Endymion or not, true love or not, she was still a Guardian. She could not be part of any tale, including the twelve dancing princesses. She would not play into Diamond's game.

Only slightly reassured, she continued down the hallway, turning the bend to the guest quarters.

And there, pacing before her room, was the prince himself. Again, Serena froze, this time with a lurching gasp.

Endymion bowed. "My apologies, Lady Serena, I did not mean to startle you."

Thoughts whirring, she only stared.

"I haven't slept well," Endymion continued. She noticed that he was wearing the same garb he'd been in since he'd transformed from frog into human. "I kept thinking about you following the queen, wondering if you . . . I'm glad to see you're safe."

"Thank you. I'm fine. But . . . he took Raye."

Endymion's eyes softened. "I am sorry." He seemed to want to continue, hesitated, then said, "You wear your emotions on your face, Lady Serena, and in everything you do. I can tell how much it hurts you. I . . . I can tell how much you care for these women."

She pursed her lips and neared him until she was before her bedroom door, her hand rested against the handle. "I used to think that was a good thing, but now I'm not so sure."

"I think it's a good thing. People need to be able to trust their Guardian."

The word _Guardian_ coming from Endymion's mouth was like a pinprick to her heart. But he did not know what it meant. He did not know that she had sacrificed their love in order to save everyone else.

"I'm sorry," he said, listing his head. "You're tired. I should let you rest."

"I don't have time to rest," she said. "And I couldn't even if I wanted to. I was just coming to pack my things. We'll be leaving soon. I have a lead on the next princess."

"Ah. I guess I'll get ready to leave too, then."

But he didn't stir.

"Was there something . . . ?"

"Actually—" Endymion cleared my throat. "I was hoping you might be able to answer some questions for me. My head is filled with them. And we haven't had much of an opportunity to talk. I know . . . I know you have a lot to think about already . . ."

She absently tapped her fingers against the cool doorknob, willing her heart to stop trembling. "No, you're right. You've been very patient with me, and everyone. We haven't exactly treated you like a guest, or a long-lost—" _Love._

"With good reason. I couldn't prove anything, and you had cause to distrust me."

She opened her door and gestured for him to enter. He went straight to the window. Though the sun was rising, Serena busied herself with lighting candles.

"It's beautiful here," Endymion said, looking down at the white houses and forest canopy.

"I know. This is my first time in Cashlin."

"Is it mine too?"

Serena glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "Most likely," she said, holding a taper into the embers of the still-smoldering fireplace. "When you were born, when we both were born, Cashlin was under the reign of Queen Beryl. She would not have welcomed either of us to her kingdom."

"That is a name I've heard mention of more than once in the past few days." He turned to her fully but she found herself unable to meet his gaze without feeling as though her heart would explode within her chest. _Be still, my heart._

She lit the rest of the tapers lined up on the mantel. "I was hoping you could tell me more about myself. My family, and my past . . . anything, really."

"Zoicite might be a better person to ask. He knew you much longer than I did. Or even Jadeite."

"How many siblings do I have?"

"Four. All brothers. Prince Malachite and Prince Nephlite are both in Aysel still, your home kingdom. They are both married. . . . Malachite is married to Mina and they have a beautiful daughter, Cytherea . . . your niece. Nephlite is married to Lita."

She finished with the candles and dared to look at Endymion. His expression was warm, almost excited, and Serena tried to imagine what it would be like to have no memories and no family and suddenly be told of so many people who were close to you. But she did not return the grin, and instead shook her head. "I make it sound happier than it is. Mina, Cytherea, and Lita have all been kidnapped by the sorcerer."

The smile faded. His gaze fell to the valley beyond the city walls. "I will do anything in my power to help rescue them."

"I know." Serena paced toward him, joining him before the awe-inspiring view.

"Is there anyone else . . . ?"

"Your parents, the king and queen of Aysel. But . . . Queen Luna . . . is also . . ." She felt the telltale tingling in her nose that alerted her to oncoming tears and had to stop talking.

"My brothers are all married . . . but I was not?"

She felt her head turning mechanically, slowly, from side to side, as her gaze snagged on some far-off bend in the river. "You were not married."

"Would you tell me, Lady Serena . . . what my relation was . . . with you?" When she did not respond, he turned to face her more fully. "I can venture a guess, if that suits you. I feel I already have a sound idea."

"What's your guess?"

"Well . . . while I cannot begin to think or hope what you may have felt for me . . . I am quite certain that I was in love with you."

She shut her eyes and gripped the windowsill. Her hands began to tremble. _Stay put, you foolish heart. _

"You don't have to answer. I know it's true. I could feel it the first moment I laid eyes on you. It seems that, while all my memories are gone, my emotions have remained unchanged. I can tell that I once loved very deeply. I can feel how devoted I must have been."

He inched toward her. She felt a whisper of fingertips against her arm.

"I must have told you all this before? You did know that I loved you?"

She gulped in an effort to dislodge the lump in her throat. "Yes. You told me that you loved me."

Another pause, another hesitation, another breath where every fiber of her body yearned for his touch, and equally shrank from it. "And at the risk of making a fool of myself . . . would you tell me what your response was when I told you that I loved you?"

She could no longer withhold the sob that escaped her. Legs giving way, she sank into a nearby chair and collapsed over her knees.

"Serena?" he asked, kneeling before her, his hands grasping the arms of the chair.

"It's complicated," she said. "Things were complicated back then."

"Tell me. I don't know . . . I don't remember anything."

"Let me . . ." She sniffled and wiped her nose on her sleeve. "Give me a minute, please."

"Of course." He stood and paced toward the bed, but it did not make much of a difference. She could still feel him, smell him, hear his footsteps and tense breathing.

She used all of her willpower to force the crying to subside, and braced herself for the story she had to—even wanted to—tell him.

"All right," she began unsteadily, wringing her hands, and Endymion returned to the window and waited. "I guess I'll start from the beginning. I was born Princess Briar Rose of Obelia, which is the kingdom to the north of Aysel. And, when I was born, our parents decided that you and I would be betrothed." He turned toward her, but she kept her eyes firmly glued to the carpet. "But then Queen Beryl placed a curse on me. The curse said that when I turned sixteen, I would prick my finger on a spindle and die. Jacob Grimm, who is one of the storytellers, changed the curse and made it so that I would only sleep until love's first kiss should wake me, but my parents were still afraid of Beryl's vengeance and so . . . so my mother took me away to the world where the storytellers had first come from."

She hesitated, wondering if any of this made sense to Endymion, but as he didn't ask any questions, she proceeded. "My father, still in Obelia, took the orphaned daughter of a servant and had her pose as the princess. He didn't tell anyone her true identity. I came back before my sixteenth birthday. I didn't know that I was really Briar Rose. . . . I didn't know anything. Then I met you. And . . . and I believed, as everyone believed, as even _you_ believed . . . that you were betrothed to Briar Rose."

"But I was in love with you."

She shivered. Endymion kneeled before her and took her hands into his. "I'm sorry . . . please, go on."

"No. You're right. You told me that you loved me. You asked me to run away with you. You . . . you asked me to marry you."

"And you . . . ?"

"I couldn't," she whispered. "I had a responsibility, to your family, to the storytellers . . . to Briar Rose, who I thought was the real princess. It was my job to make sure you married her. I know this may not make any sense, but I honestly believed you would be happier with her. I even thought that maybe there was a spell on you making you _think_ you loved me, when you really loved her."

"So you rejected me?" He looked on the brink of smiling when he said this, and she knew he knew the answer . . . and that he also knew it was not the answer she'd wanted to give. Then . . . or now.

"I had to."

"And then what?"

"And then . . ." She gulped, her heart breaking all over again as he rubbed his thumbs across her knuckles. "And then you died."

A pause.

"How did I die?"

Her breath was shaky as she cast her eyes to the blue sky, filling quickly with sunshine. "On my birthday, the curse succeeded and I pricked my finger and fell asleep. You came to rescue me, to wake me up. . . . You knew, of course, that it had to be from your kiss." His grip tightened. "But Beryl had taken over the castle, and it was filled with soldiers. You fought . . . you were stabbed. But you made it to me anyway, and kissed me, and woke me up. But you'd already lost too much blood."

"Do you remember where I was stabbed?"

She reached forward and trailed her fingers along his right side, just beneath his ribs. He did not move, hardly even seemed to breathe. "Here," she said, and then moved her hand to his other side, "and also here . . . though this injury was not as bad . . . would not have killed you." She tore her eyes away from the hidden, invisible wounds, and met his gaze. So intense. So full of longing and awe.

Still staring at her, Endymion lifted the hem of his tunic to reveal his abdomen, and ran his fingers over the bared skin. Serena's eyes darted down to the secret place again and she gasped at seeing his fingers caressing a pale, ragged scar.

"Endymion," she whispered, hands covering her heart as it pounded within her. _Too hard. Too quick._

He dropped the material and reached for her hands, pulling them to his face and nuzzling his cheek against her wrists. "I am so sorry that I left you."

The tears spilled over, flowing down her cheeks and landing in her lap as Endymion pressed his lips to her palm.

"I understand that much time has passed. And that things change . . . feelings change. And I see that . . . that your friend, this Darien, has feelings, and I could not blame you for returning them."

Her breath snagged. Her stomach flipped.

_Darien._

"But I want to try and earn your love again. Will you give me this chance? To discover you . . . us? To start from the beginning?"

With a sob, she collapsed into his arms, burying her face into the collar of his cloak. His arms surrounded her, rocked her. His kisses discovered her hair and her forehead and her temple.

Diamond was playing a game with her heart. And he was winning. She had become a puppet on his string, and she knew this. But she could not fight it. He had returned Endymion to her, and that was all that mattered. Being in Endymion's arms again was all that mattered.

She would defeat Diamond regardless. This time, they would do it together.

A knock startled her and she pushed herself away from Endymion, though her fingers still gripped the front of his shirt.

Darien stood in the doorway.

He was trying to look indifferent, expressionless. But he appeared rather sullen as he watched his fingers picking at the doorframe.

Serena swiped at her reddened cheeks.

"I guess we're all getting ready to leave," Darien mumbled, refusing to look at Serena, or Endymion. "King Jadeite instructed the horses to be readied, and we're all meeting in the dining hall. Anyway, just letting you know."

He left before Serena could respond, leaving a shadow of himself in the doorway, lingering in Serena's imagination.

She could not look at Endymion as he helped her to her feet. "I will wait for you in the dining hall."

He kissed her on the cheek. Her skin tingled at the touch, but the sensation paled in comparison to the straining in her chest, as if two invisible forces were gripping her arms and tearing her in two.

* * *

The struggle continued, built, crescendoed, until her thoughts were all screams and frustration. She could not explain, could not justify, and could not ignore. What was this feeling? _Guilt?_ But why should she feel guilty? Why should she feel anything other than supreme joy that the love of her life had returned to her after all this time?

But there was his face again, floating up in her mind's eye—hurt, betrayed, trying so damn hard not to care.

_Darien . . . _

But what did she owe to him? They had never been anything but friends. He'd never made an effort to be more than that, never suggested it as even a possibility. Sure, she held a place in her heart just for him, a place that was tender and affectionate and closely protected. But was it love?

She chewed on her fingernails, letting the brown mare beneath her set the pace. Zoicite, silent and glowering, led the group, following Jadeite's simple directions. Jadeite himself had stayed behind at his castle, unable to abandon his kingdom. Melvin, behind Zoicite, had spent the ride poring over a small black book. It briefly occurred to Serena that this could be the spell book he'd taken from the sorcerer, but no—hadn't Diamond taken it back?

Darien and Endymion rode just before Serena, close enough that she could still see their dark expressions. Serena had slowed her pace to a crawl at times, hoping they would desert her, but they lingered near, pulling her in two painful directions. She could hardly breathe.

On her left was Darien, his expression all scowls. He gripped his horse's reigns with whitened knuckles. Every time Serena looked at him, she thought of his dejected face when he had walked in on her and Endymion, and her heart ached. She wanted to explain, but didn't know what there was to explain.

_He's just my soul mate, you see. That's all._

But if Endymion was her soul mate, Darien was . . . well, he was . . .

What? She did not know. She could no longer put a term to her feelings for him. It should have been simpler now. It should have been clear, with them both so close she could almost touch them.

She was in love with Endymion.

She was friends with Darien.

And yet, it was not so clear. Not so obvious.

_Was it love?_

It was a question she had asked herself so many times. Analyzing the way her heart jolted at the sight of Darien. The way his scent comforted her. The way his voice both soothed and excited her.

But was that love?

And now, what did it matter? After all, she _knew_ she loved Endymion. There was no doubt in that. No hesitation.

And what did she owe Darien, anyway? Even if it _was . . . _well . . . the L-word.

Nothing. She owed him nothing. She deserved this happiness, returned to her so unexpectedly. She deserved this happily ever after—finally. She deserved to not spend the rest of her life feeling regret at her inability to tell Endymion that she did love him, that she did want to marry him.

She owed Darien nothing. She owed herself everything.

But . . .

But.

_What if this, too, was love?_

On her right, Endymion appeared distraught, his eyes fixed on some imaginary spot on the dirt road. His breathing sometimes slow and labored, other times quick and agitated. His eyes belied hidden depths and Serena could not guess what he was thinking. Desperately trying to capture some forgotten memory? Or feeling the painful loss of his sisters-in-law, even though he didn't know them? Or was he thinking of Serena, and the love they had once shared?

_Just my soul mate, my prince, my happily ever after. That's all. That's all._

And so she kept her eyes turned away from both of them as much as her heart would allow. They were distracting to her, tugging on her thoughts, and her heart, when she needed to be focused on the sorcerer and the disappearing princesses.

That was her excuse, at least, for ignoring the two men who rode beside her.

The air beneath the forest canopy was crisp and sweet, filled with the aroma of earth and pine needles and the lingering hint of fresh snow high up in the mountains. To either side of the road, the forest floor was covered in ferns and feathery astilbes and low-growing hostas, everything wild and beautiful. Speckled light suggested a warm sunny day above the treetops, but Serena doubted it would ever break through the shadows surrounding them.

The dwarfs lived farther than Serena had expected, almost all the way to the crossroads that met in the perfect center between the three kingdoms—Aysel, Cashlin, and Obelia. Serena's agitated thoughts followed her until mid-afternoon when they paused for lunch and to rest the horses. Melvin wandered off with his book and a hunk of bread, baked just that morning—what _could_ be so interesting that he hardly looked up from those pages all day?—and Serena found a fallen tree trunk and sat there by herself, glad for a moment of solitude. Very few words came from the men who stayed by the horses, comments on the weather and the distance, and most of those from Zoicite.

How his heart must be breaking.

A low hooting drew Serena's gaze up to the treetops, where she spotted a large brown owl, speckled with white blotches. It was watching her with giant black eyes, and again hooted—a brisk, impatient sound.

"I think it's a spotted owl."

She did not turn to face Darien. She was entranced by the huge bird on the bough above her. She'd never seen one before.

"I thought owls were nocturnal."

There was a long silence, before Darien said, "Maybe we woke him up." Then, "I found a blackberry bush on the other side of the road. Want some?"

She looked down at the handful of berries instead of at his face, and took a few with a muttered, "Thanks."

The berries were tart and left purple stains on her fingers.

Darien leaned up against the fallen tree, setting his elbows on the moss-covered wood and let his gaze travel around the forest. Serena dared to look at him only then, with his attention fixed elsewhere, and stole another berry from his open palm.

"Today is the first day of classes," he said.

It took a long time for his words to make sense to her, and then Darien chuckled, but without humor. "You'd forgotten all about school, hadn't you?"

She lowered her gaze. She hadn't just forgotten about school, she'd forgotten about everything. The apartment they would share together, the study sessions they would have, the all-nighters they would pull. Her heart constricted with the realization that those dreams were quickly sinking out of sight.

"It's okay. I'd almost forgotten about it too. I guess kidnappings and evil sorcerers have a way of making Psychology 101 seem relatively unimportant."

"I'm sure we'll be able to come up with a good excuse for our absence," she said.

Darien held out the last two berries for her, but she only took one. He popped the other into his mouth, but grimaced—it must have been a sour one.

"Are you going to come back?" he said, looking at his hands, and then wiping them on the thick moss.

The question startled her. The answer, of course, was yes. Of course she would be going back home. Of course she would return. Of course . . . and yet, these were not the words that formed on her tongue.

"I never meant to come back here in the first place."

"But you did. I mean, you had to. And you're here now."

"So are you. Are _you_ going to go back?"

"It's not the same. Melvin and I don't belong here. Not like . . ." He trailed off, mindlessly pulling clumps of moss from the wood. "Sere, what story are you?"

She blinked at him. "What story?"

"Yeah. If Amy was Rapunzel and the Cashlin Queen was Snow White and that mermaid was Ariel . . ."

"Sirenetta. Ariel was a Disney name. And besides, we don't really know that Sirenetta is the mermaid in the story."

Darien looked up at her, ignoring her interjection. "So what story are you from?"

"I'm just a Guardian. I don't get a story."

She held his gaze, but her heart was shrinking beneath it. She could sense both anger and sadness from him, until he shook his head suddenly and turned away, his back to the log. "I guess it's none of my business."

He waited just long enough to see if she would be guilted into telling him, picking silently at his nails, before asking, "Want to go get some more berries?"

She licked her lips and sighed. "Sleeping Beauty."

The owl hooted and she glanced up to see that it was puffed up on its branch, its head cocked as it watched them. From the corner of her eye, she saw Darien turning back toward her, but she did not look at him.

"The girl with the chubby fairy friends?"

"That's Disney too. I had—well, I guess I had the original Guardians, and Lord Grimm."

"And did you prick your finger?"

She lowered her gaze. "Yes."

"And sleep for a hundred years?"

"Only a few hours."

Fallen leaves rustled beneath his feet. "And did your prince come?"

Serena sensed bitterness as much as she sensed an honest attempt to not be bitter.

"Yes," she said. "And then he died, and I became a Guardian, and then I came home." She dared to steal a look at him, but his gaze fell away. He was picking at the moss again.

"And now you're both back."

From the road, they heard Zoicite say, "We should head out. We'll be lucky to reach the cottage by nightfall."

Almost grateful, Serena slid down from the trunk, but Darien barred her escape. "Sere, I want you to be happy. You know that, right?"

And yet he looked so sad.

"I know, Darien." She hesitated. "You're still my best friend."

Dejection flashed across his features. "No. Melvin's your best friend. I'm just—"

A horse whinnied. Bags ruffled as the remains of lunch were repacked.

"You _are_ my best friend," she said. "Both of you are. And I don't want to lose either of you. Besides . . ." She sucked in a breath, bracing herself. "Guardians aren't supposed to have happy endings."

"Then maybe you shouldn't be a Guardian."

She blinked. She'd meant it as some sort of underhanded consolation to him. Endymion couldn't keep her here, because she couldn't fall in love, because she couldn't have that happy ending. Wasn't that what he wanted?

As if sensing her thoughts, Darien smiled softly, his dimple beginning to show. "No one deserves a happy ending more than you do, Sere."

Above them, the owl hooted, a quiet, haunting call, and flew off into the shadows.

* * *

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	12. The Guardian's Heart

Sorry for the delay, it's been a _super_ crazy busy week.

Thanks to all reviewers and my awesome, intelligent, and supportive beta, KaitlynFall.

Enjoy!

Return to Aysel: Another Grimm Tale  
Alicia Blade

Chapter 12: The Guardian's Heart_  
They rowed to the castle, entered, and each prince danced with the girl he loved._  
from The Twelve Dancing Princesses

It was past nightfall when they reached the dwarfs' cottage. The moon lent a ghostliness to the treetops that swayed against the black sky, but the cottage was cheery and inviting. Gold light through its windows promised a blazing fire and sanctuary. Serena had looked forward to seeing the seven men since they'd first set out that morning. Their gruff mannerisms and undaunted confidence had been a great source of comfort for her in the battle against Queen Beryl, and now she longed for that same comfort again.

The sound of the horses must have alerted the dwarfs because by the time the travelers were dismounting outside the cottage, all seven dwarfs had come out to greet them—long beards dangling, thick fists perched upon leather belts, small dark eyes peering up at them from beneath bushy eyebrows.

Serena could not keep her giant grin away. She was tempted to rush forward and embrace each of them in rib-crushing hugs, but, recalling their dislike of affection, she just stood her ground and beamed at them instead. She was amazed that she not only remembered their names, but also which one was which: Qualakig, Gralogwid, Fiebrob, Wilopin, Boreetok, Vlonterp, and Kepple.

"Hello," she said to them, breathless. "Do you remember me?"

Gralogwid snorted, but he was the first to smile. "Told ya she'd be back," he said. "I knew she'd be missin' me too much to stay away."

"Ah, you all know tha' I was her favorite," said Kepple.

Serena laughed, surprised to find tears in her eyes. "I missed you all very much," she said, then decided that she didn't care whether or not they liked affection and stooped to give each of them a hug in turn. Some stood frozen in her grip and others squirmed uncomfortably and at least one returned the embrace with a half-hearted pat on the back, but when she pulled away they all had pink cheeks.

"Something's happenin' I suppose," said Boreetok. "You better come in and tell us all about it."

Serena nodded. "We'll tie up the horses first. Oh! And I need to introduce you. This is Darien and Melvin . . . they're my closest friends."

The dwarfs greeted them with reserved kindness, then looked up at the two princes.

"Thought that one was dead," said Vlonterp with a gesture to Endymion.

The prince fidgeted as everyone's attention was diverted to him. Then he smiled and shrugged. "I'm back?"

There was a chorus of satisfied, uncurious grunts from the dwarfs before they filed back into the cottage.

* * *

"Don' understand why this sorcerer'd be takin' an _elf,_ of all creatures," said Wilopin. "My life goal's to stay as far away from them as possible."

Serena quirked an eyebrow. She was exhausted from the long ride and the long explanation to the dwarfs upon their arrival, but a mug of mulled wine was soothing her temperament. It was with some surprise that she noticed Wilopin's dislike—along with the nods of his comrades. With the exception of Queen Beryl, she'd never known the dwarfs to dislike anyone.

Of course, her own experience with an elf, Andrew, the Guardian of Romance, had not been particularly favorable. He had been one of the Guardians who'd tried to kill her and her friends, and she did recall the dwarfs' apparent distrust of the elf long before anyone guessed he could be a traitor.

"What's wrong with the elves?" she said, with a sip of her steaming drink.

"They're a loony bunch," Gralogwid said. "All flighty and giggly. They never stop moving. And they never stop laughing. It's enough to drive a sane dwarf to murder."

"So," said Darien, "you don't like them because they're . . . happy?"

The dwarfs looked at him with sympathetic smiles. "You're goin' to see them, aren't you?" said Wilopin. "You'll see what we mean soon enough."

The comfort that Serena's drink had brought was soured by the dwarf's warning. "How far are they? We were hoping to reach them tonight."

Qualakig grunted and shook his head. "No way, Miss Rena. Their village is still a good forty miles southeast of here, and the road'll be too dark for the horses. You'd best stay here the night."

The last ounce of optimism fizzled in Serena's chest. "But . . . what if this is the elf princess's last night with the sorcerer? From what I can tell, she's been taken every night since Mina was taken, and possibly even before then. I have no way of knowing how much longer she'll last before he has her too."

The dwarfs grunted in understanding, but didn't seem as upset by this fact as Serena thought they should have.

"And," she continued, "according to the tale, there will be only one more princess—twelve total. Do we know if there are any more elf princesses? Or a queen?"

"Nay, the queen died in childbirth with the second daughter. Though the king coulda remarried by now. We don' pay much attention to elven current events."

Serena sunk back against the wall. "I need to figure out who the twelfth will be before it's too late." She was unable to voice her own fear—that Diamond wanted to take _her, _to steal _her_ heart.

Besides, what he wanted did not matter. A Guardian could not also be a princess, could not be part of the story. She was safe.

Or so she hoped.

"Unless we can get to the elves in time to rescue this other girl," said Zoicite. "Before he can capture all twelve at all."

Serena nodded absently and glanced out the small round window by the door. The moon was drooping over the treetops. The sight brought a weariness she'd rarely known before, and her thoughts couldn't help but fix on the sorcerer and his captives.

The elf girl had to last at least one more night and give Serena the chance to follow her down into the sorcerer's castle—and hopefully end this once and for all . . . if she could figure out how to defeat the sorcerer.

That was one dilemma for which she still had no solution.

As everyone packed up for sleep, spreading their blankets and pillows out on the hardwood floor by the fire, Serena turned to Gralogwid beside her. "The dwarfs don't have a princess, do they?"

"Naw, li'l miss. Dwarfs are anarchists by nature." His eyes twinkled at her, and so she laughed, although she had a sneaking suspicion that he was being honest.

Turning away, she set out to unpacking her own bedroll as the dwarfs retreated to their shared attic-bedroom, but as her eyes scanned over her companions—Darien, Melvin, Zoicite—she realized that Endymion was gone.

Startled, she sat back on her heels and looked around the room.

"He went outside," said Darien, already lying down with his head settled on interlaced fingers, eyes closed. "Just now."

"Oh. Thanks," she muttered, and fluffed her pillow. An almost overwhelming temptation to crawl into bed and fall asleep straight away filled her, but she resisted. She and Endymion had not had a moment together since their conversation in the Cashlin guestroom, and she instinctively knew that he was waiting for her.

Besides—she _wanted_ to go to him, to be with him.

For the most part, anyway.

Inhaling a deep breath, she grabbed her cloak off a hook and left the cottage.

The memory that overtook her upon wandering to the back of the cottage and seeing Endymion perched on a large, familiar rock nearly buckled her legs. She paused and gaped at him—the silver moonlight glinting off his ebony hair, sharply carved features almost pale in the darkness, a fiercely burning gaze locked on a wildflower that he twirled between his fingers.

She was sure that he'd sensed her immediately, yet it took him a long time to look up at her, and when he did, the gaze was so intense and so familiar that she had to look away. Thus, with lowered eyes, she approached him through the dewy grass and climbed atop the rock.

"Do you . . . remember this place?" she asked, pulling her feet beneath the folds of her cloak.

When he didn't answer, she dared to look up and meet his gaze, which was soft and tender upon her. But also sad.

He shook his head. "Have I been here before?"

"We were here together once."

"And something happened here?"

_This is where I realized that you made my heart beat as quickly as Darien did._

She held her breath and looked out into the woods, toward the hidden, unused well that could not be seen in the shadows. "There's a well back there," she said, pointing. "When we were here, Beryl attacked me through it. She tried to kill me with a poisoned comb."

Instead of looking off into the woods, Endymion focused his gaze on her pointing finger. Reaching up, he pressed the small wildflower into her palm, and then closed her fingers over it. Serena's heart galloped. Endymion did not release her hand, but rather lowered it into his lap, caressing her knuckles with his fingertips.

"Do you love Darien?"

She shivered and looked away. "He and Melvin are my best friends. Of course I love them."

His grip tightened almost imperceptibly on her hand. "But he loves you as more than a friend. That much is clear."

She said nothing. It was painful to think of Darien. It hurt to imagine the rejection he must be feeling as she and Endymion held hands in the moonlight. She didn't want to think of Darien.

"I meant what I said yesterday morning," Endymion continued. "Though my memories are gone, I know that my heart has not changed." He paused and waited for her to look at him, but she could not. Sighing, he lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the base of her thumb. "I feel like my heart is hollow, like I am missing something very important that I once possessed. I feel like I've lost you, and my heart knows it, even if my memories don't."

Tears filling her eyes, Serena turned to him again. His own eyes glistened as well, faceted jewels glimmering at her, hinting at both affection and desperation.

"Endymion . . ."

"I just need to know," he said, gripping her hands tighter yet, "that I haven't lost you entirely. I . . . I want to know that you haven't given your heart to someone else."

An sob escaped her and she buried her face into Endymion's shoulder.

"How could I?" she said through her sniffles. "How could I give my heart to anyone else when I never had the chance to give it to you in the first place?"

He tentatively released her hand and wrapped his arms around her shaking body, holding her against him.

"Serena." His breath was hot against her ear. "Can't we have our happy ending this time?"

She gripped his shoulders, gathering his cloak in great fistfuls, and forced her watery gaze to his and that almost-smile she adored so much. Happiness bubbled up inside her from some secret place she had forgotten about.

Contentment. Peace. She felt, in that instant, that she'd come home.

She wanted to laugh. Instead, she squeezed him tighter, and whispered. "Yes, a happy ending. Oh, Endymion, nothing could ever change how I feel about you. How much I lo—"

She gasped and jerked away from him.

Panic flittered across Endymion's face and he reached out, but paused at the dread on Serena's face. "What? What's wrong?"

She couldn't answer. Something had changed. Something was missing.

With her heart fluttering, Serena put a hand to the base of her stomach. The burning, surging sensation of magic—the feeling that had become so normal to her she never even noticed it—had disappeared. It was gone. The strength. The spark of wisdom. The enchantment.

Terrified, she looked again at Endymion, and then allowed her stare to rise up and up to the spot where Endymion's fate hung above his head. To the aura-cloud that alerted Serena to the approaching happiness, or tragedy, of the people in these fairy tales.

But there was nothing there.

_The rule of being a guardian of the stories is that you may not have a story of your own. _

She could not have a story. Could not have a happy ending. Could not be in love.

Or she could not be a Guardian.

"Serena? What is it? What happened?" His hands were holding her arms so tight that she wondered distantly if he would bruise her—and yet she did not have the willpower to pull away. She returned her gaze to his and was met with fear and uncertainty, and so she closed her mouth and wet her lips and tried to look comforting, even though she could not smile.

"It's okay," she forced herself to say. "I just . . . I'm very tired all the sudden."

He frowned. "Of course. The ride wore us both out. We could use the sleep."

Serena did not feel her feet touching the ground as Endymion led her back to the cottage, dazed and weary and aching with guilt.

An evil sorcerer was kidnapping the princesses and stealing their hearts, planning to do Grimm-knows-what with them.

And the land of Aysel no longer had its Guardian.

* * *

Serena awoke to the world spinning. She vaguely noted that the fire on the hearth had burned down to embers. She felt exhausted inside and out.

But she had somewhere to be.

She sat up, her back aching from sleeping on the wooden floor, but it was only a dull pain at the back of her thoughts. There was something very urgent she was supposed to be doing. Someone of utmost importance she was to meet.

And so she forced herself to stand.

She had the notion that her wrinkled riding clothes were pathetically inappropriate for her meeting, but here in the dwarfs' cottage there was nothing to be done about them.

Was she late?

She did not know. She had better hurry.

She put her shoes on. Shoes would be very important for her meeting.

Stepping gingerly over the sleeping forms littered across the floor, she made her way to the door and slipped out into the night air. It was crisp and lovely, but this, too, was only a hazy idea invading her urgent thoughts. She did not pause to enjoy it, but headed straight toward the back of the cottage, bypassing the large stone—there was a memory on that stone but she didn't stop to remember it—and off into the thick, wild woods. Here, she was glad that she had remembered the shoes, for the mossy dampened ground would have been difficult to traverse barefoot.

Her skirt snagged. She gritted her teeth, grabbed up the material, and tugged. There was a rip of fabric and something metallic and chiming fell to the ground, but she was in too much of a hurry to stop. She rushed on.

At last she came to the well.

This, too, was a memory. She did not seem to like the well very much; her stomach twisted at the sight of its black water and crumbling stone wall.

But no matter. She would not linger.

She climbed onto the ledge, stepped out over the rippling nothingness, and plunged.

She was on the stairwell, its rose-tinted walls twisting away from view, guiding her down, down, down . . .

And so, down she went. She knew this stairwell. She'd been here before. Her feet knew the turns and uneven steps, as they took her. Down. Down. She hurried as fast as she could, one hand against the stone wall for balance. She must hurry. She was already late. She must go. Now. Faster. Down. Down. Down.

At last, the stairwell opened up to the beach, and the dark lake with its pulsating current, and the golden castle looming on the horizon, all fire and sparkles.

And there was a man.

Serena gasped, froze, drew back.

It was not the man she was expecting.

But who _had_ she been expecting? She couldn't recall.

But this man had whitish-silver hair and a cold, grim smile, and eyes that dazzled her with their brilliance.

Did she know him? She seemed to think that she knew him from somewhere. Perhaps this was who she was supposed to meet after all . . .

Lips curving upward, he held out his hand to her, and she completed her trek across the sand. The stranger assisted her into a rowboat. Now she realized that they were not alone. A frail-looking elf girl sat already in the boat, watching her with tranquil eyes. She also seemed familiar, a memory from a faraway life.

The man joined them in the boat and began rowing toward the castle.

Serena breathed a sigh of relief and contentment—she had not been too late.

Glancing up, she saw that the man's piercing gaze was upon her. He looked proud, as if he'd just won a very tricky game.

Flustered, she looked down at her hands, and did not look back up until she felt the boat hit ground.

The man tied the boat and then helped her and the elf onto the shore. They followed him up the massive stairs to the castle, and from the moment Serena heard the waltzing music within, she felt a deep, entrenched yearning to dance. The need was so strong it nearly buckled her in half and she barely contained a groan of desperation. Why were there so many stairs? Why couldn't she dance right here? She needed—_needed_—to dance.

Finally they reached the ballroom, and without pause the man grabbed the elf princess and they were off, spinning across the ballroom floor.

A flicker of envy was short-lived as another man materialized before her, as if from the very candlelight. A tall, broad-shouldered man with black hair and striking blue eyes and a smile full of promise. Serena fell happily into him and they danced.

The night went on and on. The dull aching in Serena's feet hardly invaded her thoughts, which never stopped yearning for the dancing, the spinning, the tapping, the twirling. It seemed the white-haired man would dance only with the elf girl, leaving Serena alone with her prince as the music continued. On and on and on.

But then, finally, he came to her. Her phantom dancing partner vanished and she fell into the white-haired man's arms with a surge of joy. He chuckled, but the sound was low and barely discernible from the music that filled her head.

"How wrong I was about you," he said once they'd danced a full song together. "I had thought you would be the most difficult princess to conquer, and yet here you are, my easiest conquest yet. Even the child princess put up more of a struggle."

She looked up at him with bleary eyes. She was more certain now that she did know him from somewhere, and she was beginning to get the impression that she didn't much like him. She frowned at the thought. Why shouldn't she like him? He was such a very good dancer.

After all, hadn't he been the person she had come to meet? Or was there someone else entirely, someone still waiting for her? Her head spun. She could not think straight. The room became a kaleidoscope of light and sound.

The man's queer smile grew as he watched her puckered face. "Once I saw you in the tower, the solution came to me—so simple, so obvious. After all, those with the coldest hearts are always those most willing to be melted." He brought a finger up and traced it along her sternum.

Serena shuddered, repulsed at the touch, but equally embarrassed of her reaction. What was wrong with her?

And yet the man just laughed, a boisterous laugh that chilled her nerves.

The music stopped.

Her feet paused, calloused and throbbing.

The man did not fight her when Serena pulled out of his arms. The elf had stopped dancing as well and was close by, swaying on her own aching feet.

"Don't you see?" the man said, his voice almost cheerful. "Every heart is a little different. Take my stubborn elf princess here." He walked behind the elf girl and settled his long fingers upon her shoulders. "How many nights has it been, my dear? Nine? Ten? The moon was barely new. Yet here you stand, heart perfectly intact, as untouchable as ever. You are truly an ice queen, are you not?" He wagged a scolding finger at her; she returned only an empty stare. "Fear not, my sweet. I will have you yet."

He kissed the girl's pale cheek, ignoring how she flinched back, then turned his gaze back to Serena. "And yet, some girls are very easily swayed, easily tempted by the promise of eternal love. Or shall we say—a happy ending? These girls have only required two or three nights to entice, to enthrall . . . to exhaust their defenses. But _you,_ why, you are ready to concede at this very moment, aren't you, my sweet _Guardian?_"

Serena gasped, the word a lightning bolt in her skull.

_Guardian. Guardian._ She was a Guardian! And she'd come here not to dance, but . . . but to . . . to do what? To rescue somebody. To stop something.

But no, wasn't there someone she was supposed to meet?

She shook her head, cupping her palms over her eyes to shut out the blinding light.

"I set out to collect the hearts of twelve princesses," the man continued. "And yours is sure to be the pinnacle of my collection."

"I'm not a princess," she said, though her dry mouth had trouble forming the words.

"No? Well you certainly aren't a Guardian anymore. And I'm quite sure your mother is a queen. Does that not make you a princess?" He snickered and she tore her hands away from her face to gape up at him.

Not a Guardian?

That's right. She'd given it up for something. But what? And why? What could have possibly possessed her to give up her role as Guardian?

"And now," the man said, eyes darkening into a wicked grin, long, slender fingers reaching out toward Serena's chest. "Let me see my prize."

She stumbled backward, pressing her hands over her heart until her ribs ached. The smoke in her thoughts was clearing, memories filtering to the forefront. The sorcerer stealing the princesses, kidnapping them through enchantment, stealing their hearts through a fake sense of love.

"No. You cannot have it. I will never give it to you."

Her defiance only served to amuse the man.

"I can't have it, you say?" he said with laughter in his voice. "You will never give it to me? Why—that would be such a terrible shame, Lady Serena. Or should I call you Princess Briar Rose?"

She glared, but was half-ignoring him as she tried to think up a means of escape. Her finger brushed the vial strapped around her neck that held the last magic pearl. If only she could make it to the lake . . .

"I'm afraid it would ruin my plan if I couldn't capture your heart. I do, in fact, require twelve, and there are only twelve royal ladies in the land. I'm sure you understand." He craned his neck toward her, whispering as if to a confidante. "Good thing I had planned on your stubbornness. As I said, in the end your heart was the easiest to claim. I am sure you will be properly ashamed."

With a chuckle, he pulled away from Serena and called out, "Oh Prince Charming, won't you come rescue your lady fair?"

Hearing heavy booted footsteps, Serena turned toward the ballroom's entrance, and cried out in surprise.

_Endymion. _

Panic engulfed her.

Had the sorcerer used the same enchantment to bring him here? What would he do to him? How could she save him?

His eyes landed on her, widening. "Serena! What—?"

"Endymion, run! He'll kill you!"

But he remained frozen at the top of the stairs. His eyes flashed to Diamond. His face drew into a scowl. He drew his sword without hesitation and began prowling toward her and the sorcerer.

"Ah, here is the brave and courageous prince, always so quick to sacrifice himself. Shall we see if he will lay down his life for you twice, fair princess?"

Her stomach churned. "No. Please. Don't hurt him."

"Ah, and why is that?"

As Endymion inched closer, Diamond reached forward and snatched Serena, pulling her back against his chest. She cried out, suddenly pinned in Diamond's arms. His breath steamed against her cheek.

Endymion's knuckles whitened on the sword handle. "Let her go. If it's me you want, I'm here. You have me."

With a sniff of contempt, Diamond traced a cold fingertip along Serena's jaw. "Silly prince, it is not you I want. You are merely a tool." He turned his head and placed a butterfly kiss on Serena's neck. She shuddered.

"_This_ is what I want." His fingers stretched out over Serena's chest, his palm lightly pressed against her heart. "And I've found that sometimes stealing a heart is best done the old-fashioned way."

Serena could see sweat beading on Endymion's brow, could see his gaze filled with horror.

"Run," she tried to whisper, but failed, mouthing only an empty word.

She knew that he would not run. She knew he would not leave her.

But she could not watch him die. Not again.

"And now comes the moment of truth," said Diamond. His palm was cold and clammy on her skin. "Dearest prince, so recently resurrected from the dead. Brought back with only one purpose: to find your long lost love. And have you found her?"

Endymion gulped. His gaze flickered from the hand on Serena's heart to Diamond's boldly taunting grin. "Let her go."

"Certainly. Once you answer a simple question. Do you love her?"

Endymion was shaking; his sword trembled in his grip.

Sweat and tears fell into Serena's eyes, stinging her. "Endymion . . ." She watched him struggle to gulp.

He murmured, "This has all happened exactly how you wanted it to, hasn't it?"

"Was that a yes?" pressed Diamond.

Serena's heart thumped, pressing against her bones, expanding, yearning to escape. Endymion's eyes were full of uncertainty, indecision—searching for a way to save her. To end this.

But what else could he say?

"Yes," he choked. "I love her."

A sob escaped Serena—both horrified and elated. Her cheeks were soaked with tears; her throat was parched with crying; her heart expanded until she could no longer contain it.

_Endymion still loved her._

He was here. He was hers. And he still loved her.

But as nails pierced her flesh, she wished he did not.

She screamed—but her heart being ripped from her chest was not as agonizing as she'd expected.

The knowledge that Diamond could still kill Endymion hurt far worse.

"Serena!"

Holding her beating heart in one hand, Diamond pushed her toward Endymion. She gasped and stumbled into his arms as he leapt forward to catch her, dropping his sword. "Serena!"

She was still breathing, but she felt that all her strength had been drained from her limbs, leaving her nothing but a hollow shell.

"Do not go to sleep just yet, Princess," Diamond said with a gleeful chuckle in his voice as he secured Serena's heart in a small box. "I have another surprise you will not want to miss."

She barely heard him. She was limply grasping Endymion's shoulders and blinking up into his terrified blue eyes and wondering why they no longer stirred her to her very soul.

"First, a prize for Prince Charming. You have quite earned it." From his cloak, Diamond produced a small crystal and held it up so that it caught the light of a thousand gleaming candles. "Your memories."

The crystal fell to the marble floor and shattered.

Endymion gasped and pulled away. Unable to steady herself, Serena crumpled to her knees and watched, mute, as Endymion grasped his head with both hands.

He froze suddenly and remained motionless, but for his shivering.

Serena held her breath.

His memories. He was going to _remember_ her. But this knowledge did nothing to her senses. There was no thrill there. No delight, even as she waited for that flicker of recognition in his eye. A smile. An embrace that she would barely feel.

"Oh god," he finally murmured, his voice thick with remorse. Breathing shallowly, he gaped down at Serena. There _was_ recognition. But no smile followed it. No embrace. His lip trembled. "What have I done?"

The sorcerer's heels clipped loudly on the floor as he walked behind Endymion and placed a hand on the prince's shoulder. "To be fair, you had no way of knowing you were falling for the wrong girl." His grin widened. "Lady Serena, allow me to introduce you to someone who is very near and dear to me. Sapphire—my baby brother."

With a wave of the sorcerer's hand, the spell fell away.

Serena found herself staring into blue eyes, but not the blue eyes she loved, and they were filled with such guilt it almost hurt to look at him.

"I am so sorry," he said to her, pulling away from Diamond. "I am so sorry, Serena. I . . . I thought . . . I didn't know . . ."

Serena just stared up at him. Realizing.

There was no Endymion.

He had never come back to her. He was still dead. She would still never see him again.

He still did not know how deeply she loved him.

These thoughts whirred, unceasing, and yet . . . shouldn't she have been devastated?

She reached up and pressed her fingers against her chest.

She should have been crying.

She should have been heartbroken.

Instead, she was all emptiness.

She turned her head away. Her wandering fingers discovered the vial at her neck and gripped it. She spotted the elf princess loitering mere feet away from her. Their eyes met. Serena had never seen a girl looking more miserable, as if this event was just one more tragedy in a life filled with tears. Was she feeling the heartbreak that Serena could not?

But without a heart, and without emotions, the only thing left is reason.

This girl would not be taken tonight.

And tomorrow, Serena's companions would find her.

"Darien," she said, putting as much force into the word as she could, though she felt nothing at the name.

The elf blinked down at her.

"_Darien?_" said the sorcerer with a mock groan. "Was there ever a girl as fickle as you? Endymion or Darien? Guardian or princess?" Chortling, he paced to the raised platform along the north wall, muttering to himself about hearts and spells.

Serena ignored him and pulled on the vial until the strap broke. "Darien," she said again. She reached out for the girl's hand and pressed the vial into her palm.

The girl remained frozen, even as her hand tightened around the vial.

"That's enough," said the sorcerer. From the corner of her eye, she could see him hovering over the long oak table, smiling down on eleven boxes. He did not even look at her as he said, "_Now _you may rest, my little sleeping beauty."

Heavy fog quickly overtook her, and for the second time in her life, Serena fell into a dreamless, timeless sleep.

* * *

Will you all be less upset with me if I promise to post again before the weekend? ^^;; please review, thanks!


	13. The Elves

Haha, I'm so happy that so many of you were fooled!! (I know, that's mean, but I can't help it. _Success!_)

Seriously, though, **KaitlynFall** deserves a HUGE chunk of the credit for the Endy/Sapphire twist. The "surprise" was horrifically obvious in the first draft until I got her input and she made me rewrite everything, lol.

So you can thank her (or yell at her) for being surprised. Except for those of you who had already figured it out, you smart cookies, you. ^_^

But here's a teaser—

There's an even bigger surprise still to come. _Dun dun dun! _(At least, I hope it will be a bigger surprise…)

Enjoy!

Return to Aysel: Another Grimm Tale  
Alicia Blade

Chapter 13: The Elves_  
On the second and third nights, it fell out just the same,  
and then his head was struck off without mercy._  
from The Twelve Dancing Princesses

Darien stirred in his sleep, groaning under an oppressive grogginess that refused to let him open his eyes. He lifted one weighted arm, frowning into the darkness of his closed eyelids. He yawned. He forced one eye open and then the other. Sunlight was streaming bright and merry through the windows.

He groaned again and sat up, discarding the anvil from his chest. His eyes went first to Serena.

He jolted.

Her bedroll was empty. A few golden strands of hair across her pillow were all that remained of her.

"Serena?" he whispered, gaze darting around the cottage. There were Melvin and Zoicite, still snoozing. There was the pile of blankets where Endymion had slept—empty.

Darien's stomach churned. He did not bother to fool himself that it might not be jealousy.

And yet, his feeling of panic did not go away. His heart was suddenly racing.

He climbed to his feet and stepped over his companions as quietly as he could, slipping a wool cloak over his shoulders as he left the cottage.

The morning was chilly and damp underfoot, the sunlight just beginning to glitter on the dew-soaked grass. Birds were chittering in the forests. The woods' shadowed eeriness of the previous night had turned sweet and beautiful.

Darien scanned the meadow while he pulled on his boots, but saw no sign of either Serena or Endymion. He headed toward the back of the cottage, afraid that he might turn a corner and see Serena and Endymion locked in a passionate embrace. He still hadn't gotten over the sight of the two of them together in the Cashlin guest room, although he probably should have expected it. He'd felt her slipping away ever since the scene by the pond, when her true love had returned. _True love._ His jaw clenched unwillingly at the term.

But he meant what he'd said. Serena deserved happiness. She deserved love. He _wanted_ her to have those things.

He'd just never considered that he might not be the one to give them to her.

At the back of the cottage he found only more silence and a giant empty rock in the middle of the meadow. It was colder back here, tucked away from the rising sun, and a shiver tickled the back of Darien's neck.

He was ready to turn back when a shimmer of gold in the forest caught his eye. He followed it, and no sooner had he stepped into the shadows did he notice fresh footsteps into the mud beneath him. He froze, heart thudding, and knew without a doubt that they were Serena's.

But he saw nothing that suggested Endymion had followed her.

Moving faster, he closed the space between himself and the gold that had caught his eye. It was her locket, dangling from a low-growing bush. Darien snagged it and kept it clutched in his fist while he dashed after the trail of footsteps, ignoring the vines and creepers that clawed at him.

The trail ended abruptly at a short stone wall, crumbling and camouflaged with moss. It was a well, though Darien doubted clean water had been dredged from its depths in a very long time.

"_Serena?_" he yelled, looking around for any sign of her, but her footsteps ended here. That same panic oozed in his veins and he shuddered to think . . . she wouldn't . . . she couldn't be . . .

Gulping, he put his hands on the stone wall and peered over. In the black water he could see his own image rippling up at him. No sign of Serena, but how deep did the water go?

Then he thought of the disappearing princesses and realized . . .

_I'm Sleeping Beauty._

"A mirror," he murmured, watching his reflection murmur the words back to him. Just as Amy had been taken into Cerulean Lake.

He turned and raced back to the cottage.

* * *

"But what about Endymion?" said Zoicite, rolling up his bedroll. "Why would he have gone too?"

A silence fell over the group—Darien, Melvin, Zoicite, seven dwarfs—all fidgeting and exchanging wary glances. Darien had spent the morning fretting about Serena and trying his best not to think about Endymion. There was a possibility lurking deep in his thoughts that maybe, just maybe, Serena hadn't been kidnapped at all. That maybe she had actually run off with Endymion.

But no. She wouldn't leave them like this. Wouldn't abandon her friends, her companions . . . her mother.

It sickened him to think that this knowledge brought comfort to him. How he would prefer she'd been kidnapped by a cruel sorcerer rather than eloped with some fairy-tale prince.

"Maybe," said the red-bearded dwarf—Darien couldn't even remember their names much less keep them straight, "The sorcerer fella no longer had use for 'im. You did say he brought 'im back to life with his magic, didn'ya?"

"Or maybe he—" Melvin began, then stopped. All eyes turned to him, but saw only the top of his messy brown hair and hands squirming in his lap.

"Maybe he what?" said Darien.

Melvin shrugged. "It's just . . . an idea . . . I had."

"Go on," said Zoicite, shoving his bedroll into his pack. "What do you think could have happened?"

"Well . . . I just thought . . . maybe he wasn't really Prince Endymion?"

More silence prompted Melvin to continue and he cleared his throat. "Just that I found this a few days ago, by the lake . . ." He trailed off and pulled a small black book from his cloak's sleeve, the same that Darien had noticed him looking at the day before. "It's a book of transformation spells. It . . . it belonged to the sorcerer."

Zoicite reached out for the book but Melvin recoiled, then hastened to lay the book out in the middle of the group as he flipped through the pages. "From what I can tell from the basic rules of magic here at the front, it shouldn't be possible to bring someone back from the dead—unless you bind them to another living soul, but if Endymion had been bound to another soul then he wouldn't have been falling in love wi—" He paused and cleared his throat.

"At least, I think that's how that works. But anyway, maybe there's another answer. Maybe he's not Prince Endymion back from the dead, but rather just some guy _posing_ as Prince Endymion. See—look. He was a frog first, right? And here's a spell for turning a subject into a frog." He pointed at a certain page, and then hastily began flipping to the back of the book. "Here it talks about remedies, and it says that the frog spell can easily be broken by either a maiden throwing the frog at a wall _or_ by kissing him . . . a virgin princess works best, it says, followed by just a virgin, then just a princess, followed by any young maiden, followed by a lady . . . the farther you get down the list, the more likely there will be complications."

"Well where did Miss Serena fall on tha' list?"

Darien looked at the dwarf that had spoken, then reeled back to find everyone looking at him. "How would I know?" he said, blood flooding his cheeks.

"It doesn't matter," said Melvin, waving his fingers at them. "Either way, she broke the frog spell, didn't she? But here's where it gets complicated. If someone had just used Endymion as a subject and turned him into a frog and Serena's kiss broke it, it would all be pretty straightforward, right? But it's possibleto embed a transformation spell _into _a transformation spell, as this chapter talks about here. And look, this chapter had been marked, I presume by the sorcerer himself. Which means he'd referred to it a lot."

Melvin looked around the room bright-eyed. Noticing the blank expressions, he sat back on his heels and explained. "For example, say I put a transformation spell on Darien to turn him into a frog, right? But then I could embed _another_ transformation spell into the frog spell, so that when he was remedied—by a kiss—instead of breaking the spell, it would trigger the second spell, turning him into . . . " He shrugged.

"Endymion," said Zoicite.

"Yes. Or whatever the embedded spell was for."

"But you can do that?" said Darien. "You can turn someone into someone else? Another living person?" He frowned then, recalling that Endymion wasn't exactly living. But even Zoicite seemed immune to the comment; he was too focused on Melvin's explanation.

"Yes, it is possible. The spell is up here somewhere." Again, he started flipping through pages and Darien stared, amazed at how much Melvin had gotten out of the book in a mere few days. Of course, he had always been studious to the point of neurotic. "Here it is. It's an extremely complicated spell, and would have been even more complicated not having the original subject to copy direct from, but it's definitely possible. You can't copy personality traits, though . . . or memories."

Zoicite nodded. "He was changed," he said. "But I thought it was just . . . having no memories, how would one . . ." His gaze grew suddenly dark, his fists clenching. "How cruel, to trick us. To reopen that wound."

And for the first time since he'd entered that world, Darien felt sympathy for Endymion, who really had not returned to his family who loved him. To the girl who loved him.

"But if tha' man wasn't Endy," said a dwarf, "who was he?"

"An accomplice," said Darien.

Melvin nodded. "Or maybe a minion, or a servant?"

"Why didn't you tell us any of this earlier?" asked Zoicite, his face flushed with anger. "Why didn't you tell us about the book?"

Melvin pulled back. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't think it would do any harm to keep it . . . and I didn't think of this until today, when they both disappeared. I mean, when I saw the frog spell I'd figured that was how the prince had gone from frog to human again, but I'd just figured someone had turned him into a frog and Serena turned him back. And I wasn't there when Diamond came to the throne room at Cashlin so the first I'd heard of him bringing Endymion back from the dead was last night, when Sere was explaining it to you guys." He gestured at the dwarfs. "But now . . . especially with them _both _disappearing . . ."

Darien stood suddenly. "We need to go. We're wasting time sitting here talking about what-ifs."

"You're right," said Zoicite, standing beside him. "Serena knew the sorcerer had his sights on an elf. Let's just hope he hasn't already captured her, too."

"I'll get yer horses ready," said the balding dwarf.

"Won't you be coming with us?" Darien said, to which all the dwarfs snorted.

"The elves care for us as much as we care for them," said one. "They'd ambush us soon as we stepped into their territory. Naw, you're better off goin' alone."

Darien, Zoicite, and Melvin traded worried glances, each wondering if the elves were truly the violent, ambushing types, but no one daring to ask.

"But before ye go," said the tallest, and roundest, dwarf of the bunch. "We can maybe do one last thing to 'elp you out. Master Zoi, you carry a dwarf-made bow?"

"Of course," said the prince, reaching for the bow that was never far from his side.

"Good," the dwarf said with a nod. "But you two don' have any weapons."

"I've never used a bow and arrow in my life," said Darien. "Or a sword . . . or even a knife, for that matter. People aren't really big on hand-to-hand combat where we come from."

"Well, we can't do much for yer skill," said the dwarf, "but we can at least give you some weapons tha' make you look like you know what yer doin'."

A couple of the dwarfs disappeared into the cottage's loft, and there were sounds of heavy furniture being pushed and shoved until, finally, the dwarfs returned with two weapons sheathed in black leather. One carried a dagger with an ebony wood handle engraved with an elaborate design of interlocking knots and handed it to Melvin.

The other brought a polished steel sword, its hilt wrapped in threaded gold and inset with a row of blood-red rubies.

"You'll find no better weaponry in all three kingdoms," said Zoicite, watching as Darien sheathed the sword on his belt.

"Will it make up for the fact that I've never even held a real sword before today?"

"No," said the dwarf that had handed it to him. "But it can't hurt."

* * *

Darien glowered up at the forest canopy, unchanged from the time they had left the dwarfs' cottage. The forest seemed never ending and the thickness of the shadows made it impossible to track the arc of the sun across the sky.

"Shouldn't we be there by now?" he said.

"Soon, I think," said Zoicite. "The dwarfs said we would arrive before noon."

"It isn't noon yet? This day is taking forever."

Darien was in a sour mood, not that his companions were any cheerier. The three of them had hardly spoken all morning, allowing the clopping of the horses and the birdsong from the trees to fill the silence.

Melvin was surely thinking about magic from the way he studied that book, gawking at each page in turn and muttering insensible incantations to himself while whisking his fingers through the air. It made Darien a little uneasy—did Melvin really believe he would be able to duplicate some of the magic spells on those pages? It seemed dangerous, and as much as he cared for Melvin, he wasn't sure he wanted him to be in control of that sort of power.

But at least it kept him occupied.

And he was sure Zoicite was thinking about Amy—how could he not be?

Just like Darien could not stop thinking about Serena. Tricked by that scoundrel sorcerer. Lured away by that lying, cheating imposter Endymion. And he'd almost been willing to step aside for _him_?

A stream of lilting laughter interrupted the ride and Darien and Zoicite brought their horses to a stop. Melvin was slower to notice, and trotted on ahead until Darien hissed his name and he, too, paused to listen.

"It's coming from that direction," said Zoicite, pointing.

They looked off into the thick woods, but could see nothing.

"The elves?" Darien said.

"Let's go look. We can tie the horses here."

Within minutes the three men were slinking through the woods in single-file. Zoicite, an experienced hunter, moved with ease—dodging branches and stepping over patches of dried leaves with hardly a thought toward them, while Darien and Melvin followed close behind with less impressive grace. As they moved, the giggling grew louder, floating like wind chimes through the trees. Soon, they were accompanied by the sounds of splashing and the steady gurgle of a waterfall.

At the forest's edge, Zoicite came to a halt, and they all stood gawking at the sight of a crystal clear pool of water that fed into a nearby river. The shore was made of smooth rocks covered in ferns and mosses, a cluster of lily pads floated by the edge, and a small waterfall trickled down from a cliff on the opposite side of the pool.

Seven maidens were frolicking and playing, unclothed, in the sparkling water.

They were all fair-haired, and even from a distance the men could tell that they were petite, yet not childlike. Their bodies, while slender and delicate, were also mature. And they all had pointed ears.

No sooner had Darien gasped with realization, than he felt a blade against his neck. His gaze shifted sideways to Zoicite, to see a sword point edged against his neck as well. Darien's mouth dried and he attempted to wet his throat with a few fruitless gulps. The prince slowly raised his hands to a peaceful surrender and Darien followed suit.

"Who are you?" said a male voice.

"I am Prince Zoicite of Aysel. We have come to speak with the ruler of the elf kingdom."

"And did you think that these innocent girls, whom you so blatantly ogle, were said rulers?"

"We heard their laughing and came to investigate. We were not aware that we would be trespassing on their privacy."

"And when you saw them, did you not suspect it then?"

"We were about to leave."

Darien could hear a mixture of irritation and nervousness creeping into the prince's voice. A peculiar hush had fallen over the forest; the elves' chiming laughter had disappeared. A quick glance to the lake proved that the elf girls had all climbed up onto the shore and were busy wrapping themselves in robes. All seven gazes were focused on Darien and his friends and the elves who held them captive. His face grew hot.

"You were about to leave? I think not," said the same voice. "Do you not realize that it is forbidden for any human male to look upon the divine form of our females?"

An arc of panic raced through Darien, and when Zoicite hesitated with an answer, he said, "We didn't know they would be—"

"Silence!"

Darien clamped his lips.

"And who are you? Another prince, I suppose?"

"No, my name is Darien. I . . . _We . . ._" He gestured behind him, toward Melvin, ". . . are messengers from Lord Grimm, the storyteller, and also . . . Lady Serena, the Guardian."

He heard a sharp intake of breath, though the sword remained poised at his neck. "The Guardian?"

"Yes."

"The same Guardian who killed Andrew, Guardian of Romance?"

Darien blinked. _Serena had killed somebody? _His gaze sought out Zoicite, though he could barely see the side of the prince's face and could not tell his expression.

"Yes," said Zoicite. "The Guardian who rid our world of Queen Beryl and her traitorous minions."

There was a pause, then the man hissed, "Andrew was my _cousin._"

A shudder coursed through Darien. The blade tip was pulled away, but replaced with two pairs of hands grasping him by the elbows and cinching his wrists behind his back with twine. His brand new dwarf-crafted sword was unhooked from his belt, sheath and all, and though he'd been wearing it for only a few hours, Darien felt its loss as a strangely painful blow.

When they turned him around, he came face to face with a cluster of elves, at least a dozen of them, all carrying their own swords or bows with arrows knocked.

"Bring their horses," said the head elf. "We will take them to the city and let the king deal with them for their trespasses."

* * *

The "city" was hardly a small village, seamlessly blending with the forest. It had been built in two levels. On the ground there were little stone-and-stick huts with thatched roofs—shops with painted symbols on their signs, advertising everything from cobbler to apothecary. The "roads" were all grass, lined with wildflowers. And up above were the homes, houses built into the nooks of the trees and strung together with rope bridges and wide planks. The smell of tree sap and roasting meat permeated the air.

All of the elves had whitish-blonde hair and pale skin, and stared like silent ghosts as Darien, Zoicite, and Melvin were paraded past them. It was almost embarrassing, being led through the town by men a couple heads shorter than himself, but Darien tried to swallow his pride and focus on what he would say to the elven king when he saw him. Surely the king would be willing to forgive their voyeurism when he was told of the much larger danger that faced his very daughters.

They reached the base of a humongous oak tree, the trunk of which seemed as big as Darien's house and the top of which could not be seen from the forest floor. Looking up into the boughs, Darien noted scraggly branches holding dozens upon dozens of rooms, linked together by walkways along the branches and suspended rope bridges. A staircase wound up and up around the trunk, and this is where the captives were taken. The town disappeared beneath the leaves. The guards led them to a door carved into the very trunk of the tree, and ushered them inside.

They had arrived at the elves' throne room. Though tiny compared to the throne rooms of Aysel and Cashlin, it had enough space to house three elaborate thrones carved out of the very sides of the tree trunk and a crowd of a couple dozen elves. A quick glance around showed very serious faces, all draped by the same whitish-blonde hair.

Two of the thrones were occupied by an elf man and a girl. The girl, Darien was convinced by a mere glance at her, was one of the elven princesses. Her features suggested she was a teenager, perhaps fifteen or sixteen, and yet, as she watched the captives being prodded into the room and forced to kneel, the princess's eyes were filled with sorrow. Most of the elves had pale irises in tints of blue and green, but hers were almost pure black.

"Your Highness," said the elf from the forest. "These humans were found in the woods, spying on seven maidens while they bathed in the river."

The king did not look at the elf who spoke, but rather kept his eyes glued to the three human men who knelt before him. "It is strictly forbidden for any human male to look upon the unclothed beauty of the women of our kingdom," the king said in a slow, monotonous voice.

Another chill coursed through Darien. He sounded like a robot—completely lacking in emotion.

"Please," said Zoicite, "we meant no harm. We were looking for your kingdom when we heard voices coming from the river. When we went to investigate, we had no idea that we would be intruding on their privacy."

"Ignorance is always the first excuse when one is accused of a crime," said the king.

Zoicite shook his head. "Your Highness, I am Prince Zoicite of Aysel Kingdom. My companions and I come to you not only in peace, but also to offer assistance. There is a battle waging against a villain whose crimes are much worse than those we are accused of, and we have come here with the intention of stopping him. We need your help."

The king's face darkened and he rose from his throne, gripping the chair's arms with whitening knuckles. "You dare to belittle our customs? To so passively ignore our centuries-old law that forbids human eyes from falling upon our maidens' fair skin?"

Darien's jaw fell. Had the king even heard Zoicite's plea? Surely by this point he must know what kind of danger they were in. Wasn't the empty throne the one that belonged to his missing daughter?

But before Zoicite or Darien could respond, the king raised his palm for silence and said through gritted teeth, "You must be punished for this blatant disrespect for our traditions. And your punishment shall be death."

Darien nearly choked on a gasp. "Death? Are you crazy?"

The elf king drew himself up, all 4 feet 3 inches of him. "You dare insult my sanity?"

Darien glanced at Zoicite, and then at Melvin; both of them seemed equally baffled.

"But we're here to help you! Don't you . . . haven't you had a daughter kidnapped by the sorcerer? Just recently? We're trying to put a stop to it!"

"What can measly humans do against such a powerful sorcerer?" said the king. "No—we will find a way to rescue Tristen without your help. Guards! Take them to the chopping block."

* * *

_please review._


	14. The Princess Who Couldn't Laugh

_Oops! A reader asked if there was a connection between Trista the Harp and Tristen and Tristis the Elves. The answer is no (it hadn't even occurred to me . . . I guess I just like Trist- names). Sorry for any confusion._

_Thanks to all reviewers and KaitlynFall for betaing!_

_Enjoy!_

Return to Aysel: Another Grimm Tale  
Alicia Blade

Chapter 14: The Princess Who Couldn't Laugh_  
Soon afterwards he came to a city where a king ruled who had  
a daughter who was so serious that no one could make her laugh._  
from The Golden Goose

Darien's stomach began to churn.

The chopping block? They were being taken to the_ chopping block?_

He saw the dark-eyed princess sigh and massage her brow with her fingertips, looking mortified.

As the guards prodded him, Melvin, and Zoicite back out of the oak tree and down the winding steps, Darien could hear barely controlled snickering all around them.

His feet were made of lead as he was marched to his death. It was not long before he spotted the looming "chopping block" at the edge of the village—little more than a platform with three wooden blocks position equally apart, each with an axe jutting from its crown.

Darien searched his mind for an escape plan, some way to convince the king that he was making a huge mistake, that he _needed_ them in order to save his daughters—but his brain, too, felt like it was made of lead. All he could think of was how ridiculous this turn of events had become.

He was to be beheaded_._

By _elves._

How could his safe, secure, _rational_ life have led him to this fate?

He realized that Melvin was murmuring something, and pulled his thoughts of disbelief back to reality, only to realize that Melvin wasn't talking to him, but rather mumbling more of those strange incantations to himself. His eyes were screwed up tight in concentration, and Darien wasn't sure if the sight filled him with hope or irritation.

Here they were, about to _die,_ and Melvin was practicing magic tricks?

The guards shoved them up onto the platform and forced them to kneel before the blocks. Darien stared down at the axe, filled with dread.

"Your Majesty," said Zoicite. Looking up, Darien saw that the king, along with his daughter, had come with the crowd. "I must again plead for your mercy and understanding. Our kingdoms have long enjoyed peace at our boundaries. And we are here now on an extremely important quest, one that involves everyone in the land. Lord Grimm himself has sanctioned this quest and urged us to defeat the evil—"

"Lord Grimm?" the king sneered. "The storyteller who cursed Andrew, one of my own subjects, with the power of Guardianship? Which ultimately led to his downfall and death?"

"But . . . but Andrew was a traitor!" said Zoicite. "He betrayed us to Queen Beryl. He—"

"That is enough. I will no longer listen to the lies that come from your filthy human mouths."

"Think of your daughter!" said Darien. "You've already lost one to the sorcerer. Are you willing to lose another?"

"Father, please," said the princess, laying a hand on the king's arm. "Enough of this charade. Don't you think there are more important matters—"

"Silence! You shall show respect for your father and king when before his subjects."

She rolled her dark eyes up to the sky. "Because you command respect so well, I suppose?"

The king either did not hear her, or refused to respond. "My daughters have told me of their dreams," he said to the captives, "and shown me their tattered shoes. And you are right—my youngest daughter disappeared two nights hence." Though there was a flicker of pain in his eyes, it was quickly swallowed by contempt. "But what can you do about it?"

Zoicite straightened his shoulders. "Our companion, the Guardian of Happy Endings, hid in the princesses' rooms while they slept and was able to follow them to the sorcerer's lair. We would like to keep watch over your daughter, that we may do the same, and rescue—"

"What?" the king bellowed. "You want me to allow three _men_ into the private quarters of my virgin daughter while she sleeps? With no supervision? Why—you sneaky, predatory, lying thieves! _Off with their heads!_"

"Oh, for Grimm's sake," murmured the princess.

"Tristis, hush," said her father, glowering at her. "You're going to ruin this moment for me."

"Pity."

The king cleared his throat, and his solemn frown was the last sight Darien saw before his head was grasped by powerful hands and forced down to the block, his cheek crushed against the smooth wood. Far too smooth—how many cheeks had lain here before?

He thought he might be sick.

And all the while, Melvin's chanting continued, quick and uneven and nervous, but never halting. Darien gritted his teeth and stared at his best friend of two years, wondering what ludicrous optimism inspired this chanting at such a time.

He heard the axe being ripped from the block, and saw another executioner lift Melvin's beside him.

Darien squeezed his eyes shut, but then quickly opened them again. Even if they met only a chanting Melvin and a group of giddy-looking elves, this was the last chance they would ever have to be open. He tried to drink in the trees, the sky, the crisp, cool wind that sifted through his hair.

He thought of his mom and his stepdad. They would never know what had become of him.

He thought of Serena. His muscles tensed and he began to struggle against his captors—she needed him!—but the ties around his wrists were too strong and the hands holding his head tight against the block would not relinquish their grip.

Hot tears began to seep from his eyes, dripping over the bridge of his nose and down to the wood.

_Serena . . ._

He could feel the crowd growing restless and knew that his executioner had raised the axe overhead. Melvin's chanting grew loud and tense and strained, but no one paid him any attention.

Darien held his breath and finally shut his eyes.

THUNK.

The crowd gasped.

Darien stiffened and then shuddered, sure he was dead. But also amazed at how quick it had been. Virtually painless.

A murmur began to rise up from the crowd, and Darien was stunned that he could still hear. He realized Melvin's chanting had stopped.

A sickening sensation filled him. Had they killed Melvin first?

His eyes flew open.

But no—Melvin was all in one piece. His executioner was still holding the axe, but it was down at his side as if he'd forgotten all about it. They were both staring at . . .

Darien shifted his gaze to see another axe planted into the wooden floorboards of the platform, only inches from his knee.

The hands that had been holding his head had released him, and so Darien slowly sat up and turned to see, not an elf guard standing behind him, but a pig. A small, fat pig.

It snorted at Darien, then scooted around the platform, trying to look at itself.

The crowd burst into laughter.

It was the most raucous, delighted, hearty laughter that Darien had ever heard. Looking out over the crowd, he saw elves falling to the ground and rolling around with glee, kicking their short legs in the air. Elves hunched over, gripping their stomachs. Elves snorting and shaking their rear ends in imitation of the pig. Even the king was joining the fun, smacking the closest elf on the shoulder over and over again while his great rolling laughter billowed up, louder than any other elf's in the village.

The pig did not seem distraught by the commotion as it scurried from chopping block to chopping block, twitching its snout and wagging its curly tail at the crowd.

The princess alone did not share in the glee, just stared with mute surprise at the pig as it paraded itself around the platform.

Darien turned to Melvin, who was gaping at the pig with flushed cheeks and an open mouth—partly stunned, partly proud. The guard behind him was rolling around and crying from laughter.

Looking over at Zoicite, Darien saw a similar spectacle with the other guard, and the prince was using the respite to work his binds against the blade of the axe. It took only a minute for the twine to snap, then Zoicite set to freeing Darien.

None of the elves paid them any heed, though the princess watched with blank eyes.

Wiping tears from his cheeks, the king looked up at them with a glowing smile. "That was the best entertainment we've had in _ages_!"

Darien found he could breathe again as the twine fell from his wrists. He rubbed at the sore flesh, staring down with mute shock at the crowd of elves—all watching them with goofy grins.

"Is it just me," continued the king, "or does anyone else have a craving for _pork_ all the sudden?"

The response was a unified, gut-bursting laughter all around him.

Darien risked a glance at Zoicite, but the prince was concentrating too hard on sawing through Melvin's binds with the axe blade.

The king's face grew suddenly serious again. "I do not know that a visitor to our city has ever made me laugh so hard, and for that, I commend you," he said. "Too bad you've now trespassed on our land _and _spied on our ladies _and _assaulted one of my soldiers. We were just playing before, but now you're really going to have to die."

Zoicite freed Melvin and wasted no time in holding the axe out defensively before him. Spurred to action, Darien reached down and grabbed the axe that had once been targeted at his own neck.

All giddiness in the crowd vanished in a blink, and every last elf drew a weapon and aimed it up toward the prisoners on the platform. The captives found themselves facing a wall of mismatched weaponry—everything from swords to slingshots.

Princess Tristis slumped onto a tree stump, cupping her exasperated face with both hands.

"Wait," said the king, holding up a hand. "I like you young men. You've got spunk. Perhaps we can reach a compromise."

Darien tightened his grip on the axe handle.

"Tell me, gentlemen, what do you think of my kingdom?" The king gestured around the lush town square. "Is it not splendid?"

"Breathtaking," Zoicite said, sans emotion.

"And—what do you think of my daughter, the lovely Princess Tristis?" The king turned his sparkling eyes on the princess; she narrowed her eyes back at him. "She is beautiful, is she not?"

Here, Zoicite had no tactful comment to make. The king's words seemed to hold a trap within them.

"You're a lucky man," Darien ventured.

"Indeed, I am." The king's gaze fell on Melvin. "You, Sorcerer, you do not speak much."

Melvin blinked down at him through his spectacles, rubbing mindlessly where the rope had cut into his wrists. "I'm trying to remember how to turn the pig back into an elf."

The king and all his subjects chortled. The pig snuffled on the edge of the platform, trying to find a way down.

"Tell me, Sorcerer, what do _you_ think of my kingdom?"

"Um. Honestly, I was a little preoccupied to pay it much attention." He pushed his glasses up on his nose.

"Perfectly all right! But now, look around—a lovely city, a beautiful princess. . . . But alas, my boundless goodwill has been tainted now for some sixteen years." The king heaved a deep, melodramatic sigh.

Princess Tristis groaned. "Oh, please."

"For you see," said the king, ignoring his daughter, "I am plagued with the worst tragedy that can ever befall an elf king. All the beauty and all the joy of my subjects cannot begin to dislodge the eternal sorrow in my heart from this one terrible misfortune. My own daughter!" The king wailed, clasping a hand to his heart. "She is so sad!"

"Father, you're making a fool of yourself."

"Do I lie?"

Tristis tightened her lips and looked away.

"Look at her. Such astounding beauty. Such perfect skin. Such fair hair. But those eyes . . . a spark of light has never flashed in those black orbs. And those lips, as sweet and cherry pink as they are, have never once curled into a grin. Would you believe, she has never laughed? Not once in her life."

The men watched as Tristis drew down into herself, trying to shrink into the tree stump.

"Even as a baby—a baby! Babes should giggle and coo, is it not so? Is it not natural? But no, not my miserable child. From the moment she arrived in the world, she has been as silent and cold as a well. It breaks a father's heart."

A shimmering tear appeared in Tristis's dark eye, but it was blinked away and replaced with only shadow.

"I have been blessed, of course, with Tristen, my second daughter. She is cheerful and merry, as all good elves are, and has brought me much delight in my old age. But nevertheless, it has become my lifelong dream to one day see my eldest daughter smile. To hear a chiming laugh escape her lips. It is not so much to ask, is it?" He turned to Tristis, as if pleading, but she would not look at him.

"Well," said the king. "That is why I propose this little bargain to you. A little game for us to play. And in return for playing this game, I promise not to have you killed.

"You see, I declared three years ago, when my daughter was at the ripe marrying age of thirteen, that any man—whether he be elf, human, or even _dwarf,_" this last word was said with a sneer, "who had the power to make my daughter laugh would be given her hand in marriage and be crowned king." He grinned smugly at his visitors. "What do you think? It sounds fair, does it not? You regain your freedom and win a lovely bride, all for the simple task of telling a few jokes."

No one was quick to respond.

"Well? Don't you agree that it is a fair solution?"

Melvin cleared his throat. "H-has she agreed to this . . . declaration?"

The king looked at him. He had until this point kept his gaze mostly trained on Darien, and looked surprised that Melvin had spoken at all.

"Why, she wants what every young girl wants. _Happiness._"

"Father," said Tristis, sitting tall once more and clasping her hands in her lap, "these men are not here to play your ridiculous games. They are here to help Tristen. You cannot waste their time with your inane—"

"That is enough." Anger seemed to flash in the king's eyes, but it quickly faded into a soft smile as he pet his daughter's hair. "Dear Tristis, someday you will be queen. Do you think our people want a queen filled with such misery?"

"I will be kind and just," she said through gritted teeth.

"Well, the elves would rather have a queen who laughs."

"But father—"

"So, who will it be?" the king bellowed, effectively silencing the princess.

When none of the men spoke, the king wiggled his eyebrows. "What's the matter? Elf got your tongue?" He burst into giggles, and was met with a roar of delight from all the other elves. Except for Tristis, who sighed and slumped over her knees.

The king had to bang his palm on his thigh a few times to regain control of himself. "All right—how about you, m'boy?" He pointed at Darien. "Why don't you give it a shot?"

Darien stared slack-jawed at the king. Marrying this sad princess and becoming king of the elves seemed like a horrible prize. Besides, he didn't know very many jokes. "And if we fail?"

"Oh, you will be beheaded, but that's hardly a worse fate than where you already stand."

Darien bristled. "But you said you wouldn't kill us if we agreed to play your game."

"Oh—oh, darn, I did say that, didn't I?" The king scratched at the back of his neck. "All right, fine, we won't kill you. We'll just . . . throw you in jail. How does that sound?"

Blood rushed to Darien's face.

"Don't look so upset," said the king. "I'm sure you'll do fine. Just try your best."

Darien looked between the king and the princess. The axe had grown heavy in his hands, and the elves surrounding them had not lowered their weapons through all of the king's monologue. But Darien could not be imprisoned, not when Serena was in danger.

He also had no desire to marry the princess, but suspected that saying so would greatly displease the king.

At least he could buy them some time. Maybe Melvin could use it to come up with another spell. Or maybe Zoicite would brainstorm a great escape plan.

He glanced at the prince, who gave him a terse nod.

"Fine, I'll try," he muttered, propping the axe blade onto the wood and leaning against it. "Knock, knock."

The king stared. The princess stared.

After an uncomfortable moment, Melvin piped up, "Who's there?"

Darien shook his head and waved the question away. "Never mind. Um . . . how about . . . why did Santa's little helper go to see a shrink?" A quick pause. "Because he had low _elf-_esteem."

He was met with silence, and then the king turned to the nearest elf and whispered, "What's Santa?"

The elf shrugged and asked, "What's a shrink?"

Darien groaned and shook his head. "I'm sorry, that was bad."

The king grunted. "You have two more tries."

"What? You didn't say anything about only getting three tries."

"Didn't I? Well—you do. Three tries. And after that, _death._ Oops, I mean, prison."

Darien pulled a hand harshly through his hair. His mind was drawing a blank. Who laughed at dumb jokes, anyway?

"What is an elf's favorite kind of cookie?" he said after an agonizing moment.

The king rubbed his chin in deep thought, then shrugged. "I give up."

"Shortbread."

An uncomfortable, sickening silence, and then—

"Ha! Shortbread!" said the king, slapping the nearest elf hard on the back. Similar guffaws spread throughout the crowd.

Darien let out a breath of relief, only to realize that Princess Tristis was gazing up at him with confused, sympathetic eyes.

"Because you're short," Darien said over the commotion. "Compared to humans."

"I understood it," she said. "But it was not funny. I am sorry . . . I will try harder this time."

Darien lowered his gaze, furrowing his brow. He searched the deepest, dustiest recesses of his imagination, before snapping his fingers. "Okay, okay, this is a good one."

"This is your _last _one," said the king, though his eyes twinkled.

Maybe—just maybe—if Darien could make him laugh hard enough, it wouldn't matter whether or not Tristis laughed too. Maybe entertaining the king would be enough.

He crossed his fingers.

"When is a piece of wood like a king?"

The king shook his head. "When?"

"When it's a _ruler._"

Again, after a moment of digestion, the audience burst into laughter.

Darien watched Tristis very closely. Her reaction was slower than those around her, but she did finally suck in a quick breath, force her mouth to turn upward, and laugh.

And then gagged on the sound.

She grimaced and pounded on her sternum as she cleared her throat of the traitorous chuckle. Her pale face was tinged with pink, but it was not a cheerful blush. Able to breathe again, she raised worried eyes to Darien.

The king was watching his daughter with a mixture of disappointment and contempt. He shook his head. "It is not enough," he said. "He has failed in his task. Tristis still does not laugh."

The princess jumped to her feet. "This is absurd. You cannot confine him over such a ridiculous game. Father, don't you see that he has more important things to be concerned with right now, things that concern all of us? And besides, why should these men be punished for what is _my_ inadequacy?"

The king listened, but when his daughter had finished speaking, he only shook his head. "We made a bargain."

"It was a foolish bargain, and you know they had no real choice in it!"

"Enough." Face growing red, the king looked up at Darien, who felt his heart shrink beneath his glare. "Take them to the jail cell."

Darien set his jaw and pulled the axe from the stump.

"Now I understand why the dwarfs don't care for them," Zoicite muttered beneath his breath.

The crowd inched toward the platform. It was evident from the way they held their weapons that they were not used to using them in real battle, and they all eyed the axes with trepidation.

"Oh, I remember!" Melvin said, snapping his fingers and pointing at the pig. "Come here, and I'll turn you back."

"Melvin, please pay attention," Darien hissed.

Still in his fighting stance, Zoicite's gaze slid to the piglet at the edge of the platform. "No, turn him back," he said.

"_As you are small, I make you big . . ._"

Grasping the axe in one hand, Zoicite stooped and swept the small pig up under its belly with his free hand.

"_. . . Become a man, you little pig._"

Zoicite hurled the squealing pig toward the crowd. A puff of white smoke engulfed it, and the squealing became a startled cry as the pig turned into a human-sized male flying through the air.

He crashed into the elves' front line and, in one fell swoop, they all tumbled to the ground. Only the king and princess were left standing, astonished.

Melvin cursed. "That was a human spell! How do I make an elf?"

"Forget it," cried Darien, grabbing Melvin's elbow and dragging him off the platform and into the forest.

* * *

_Hmm, probably the least cliff-hangerish ending yet, huh? I'll have to post again soon. ^_^_

_Please review._


	15. The Twelfth Princess

Thanks to all reviewers and to KaitlynFall for betaing!

Enjoy!

Return to Aysel: Another Grimm Tale  
Alicia Blade

Chapter Fifteen: The Twelfth Princess_  
An old woman asked him where he was going. "I hardly know  
myself," answered he. "I had half a mind to discover where the  
princesses danced their shoes into holes, and thus become King."_  
from The Twelve Dancing Princesses

"Please," Melvin gasped. "Please, no more running." He stopped at a fallen log, lacking the strength to climb over it, and stood panting with his hands on his knees. His face was scorching hot and his glasses were too slick with sweat to stay put and he was pretty sure he was going to die.

Darien and Zoicite returned to his side, also winded, though Zoicite constantly scanned the forest that surrounded them.

"You okay?" Darien asked between breaths, leaning onto the mossy log.

"Please tell me we lost them."

Though there was a frown on his face, Zoicite nodded. "I think so. We had a good head start."

"Thanks to you two," Darien said, holding his damp bangs back from his forehead. "High five on the whole pig thing."

"I meant to turn him back to an elf," said Melvin, but he exhaustedly slapped Darien's hand anyway.

"A man has more mass," said the prince.

Darien nodded. "That was awesome, Mel."

Too exhausted to be flattered, Melvin began pacing alongside the tree. Though he wanted to collapse in the softest, shadiest spot on the forest floor, he could practically hear his grade-school gym teacher admonishing him for resting without a cool-down period.

"Now what?" said Zoicite. "We won't make it far without our horses."

Darien hefted up the axe he still carried and buried the blade into the log. "They also have our weapons. And the princess."

Zoicite struck his axe into the wood next to Darien's. "So they'll be expecting us to return. They might set up a trap."

Darien snorted. "At least this time we'll know to be on guard against them."

Distant, foreign noises reached Melvin's ears and he quickly shushed his companions, turning toward the direction of the elf village. They all listened, and the noises became steadily clear. Muffled hoots of laughter and jeers. Drums and bells and horns. Stomping feet and clapping hands. Off-key singing.

"It sounds like a parade," said Darien.

Zoicite shook his head, mouth agape. "I think that's their idea of a search party." As the noises came nearer, the men ducked down into the shadows of the log. "Do you think they're using it as a distraction, to keep us from suspecting the real searchers?"

"I think you're giving them too much credit," said Darien.

Melvin pulled the spell book from his cloak and began flipping pages. "I could turn us into ants. Then they'd never find us."

"Yeah," said Darien, "but we'd be ants."

The clamor continued to grow, startling hundreds of birds from their nests. As the men hid, they could see elves haphazardly roaming the forest—but they did not seem to be looking very hard for their convicts and it was soon clear that hiding from the elves would not be a difficult task. Rather than being a stoic and organized bunch, the elves were treating this cat-and-mouse game like it was just that: a game. They hooped and hollered and made rowdy, arrogant bets with each other over who would be most likely to find the humans first. They got sidetracked, opting to have vaulting competitions off fallen logs rather than continue their search. They climbed trees and cupped their hands around their eyes like binoculars and pretended to be pirates sailing the high seas.

"When we get out of here," Darien whispered, "I suggest we never tell anyone that we were captured by these idiots."

Once it seemed that the entire elven community had passed them, Melvin, Darien, and Zoicite looked at each other and silently agreed on a plan.

They grabbed the two axes and began skirting back toward the village, Zoicite in the lead. "Weapons first," he said. "Then the princess."

"But we don't know what they did with our weapons," said Melvin.

"They're most likely kept in the oak tree. Perhaps even the throne room itself."

"Don't you think the king will still be there? Surely not _everyone_ is out looking for us."

Zoicite shrugged. "Our chances will be best now, and we need those weapons."

Melvin glanced at Darien and saw him watching the path ahead with brooding eyes. The prince was probably right—with real weapons in hand, they could at least defend themselves while searching for Princess Tristis. But Melvin found he was anxious to find the princess before the sun set, and had no doubt Darien felt the same way.

After a quiet moment Darien returned Melvin's look. "I'd be conjuring something useful if I were you."

* * *

When they reached the edges of the town, it was as quiet as it had been when they'd first arrived. The occasional elven child crossed their path, usually chasing after a toy, but the allies found it easy to duck behind a tree trunk to let them pass. Eventually they made their way to the giant oak tree at the town center; it seemed as deserted as the rest of the village. The whole place was filled only with birdsong and critters rustling in the branches above.

Again, Zoicite went first, followed by Melvin who was quietly muttering incantations to himself, and then Darien whose heart was hammering. He was glad they didn't have time to mull over the consequences of failure. If they didn't get their weapons back. If they didn't find Tristis. If they didn't make their way to the sorcerer's lair.

If he never saw Serena again.

He couldn't bear to think of it, so he thought only of getting their weapons, and finding the princess, and not getting caught.

Their boots sounded uncannily loud on the wood steps as they raced toward the tree's canopy. Every twenty steps or so they passed a door set into the trunk, and Darien wondered if maybe they should be peeking inside some of these to make sure one wasn't, say, the confiscated weapons room, but Zoicite seemed to be a man with a mission and soon they were creeping up the last few steps to the throne room.

Still, they had seen no one.

Zoicite glanced once at Melvin and seemed satisfied to see the magician frowning in concentration, before bursting into the room.

The king and one other elf were sitting on the floor playing a board game with walnut shells painted many different colors. The king blinked up at the intruders, and then hopped to his feet and prepared to yell, but Zoicite raised a silencing hand.

"If you call for your guards, our sorcerer will turn you into a toad."

The king paused and glanced at Melvin and the yell died on his open lips.

"Tell us where our weapons are," said the prince.

An angry flush covered the king's face, all the way to the points of his ears, but he conceded. "Two doors up," he said, jabbing his thumb toward the staircase.

Darien turned and ran without waiting for the others. Two stories up, they reached a door that looked no different from any other. He barged inside half-expecting an ambush of guards. But the king had been honest. They had found the treasure room.

Given, their own weapons were the only real treasure. The rest of the stash was made up of leaf skeletons and oddly-shaped river stones and bad paintings done on birch bark—stuff to amuse children. And, evidently, elves.

He snatched up his sword and strapped it to his waist as Zoicite took his bow and quiver still full of arrows. Melvin did not move and Darien, seeing that his friend was too mentally preoccupied with his magic, took the dagger and slid it into Melvin's belt.

With nothing else worth looting, they rushed from the room.

And found themselves surrounded.

Darien's heart lurched into his throat. On the stairs above them stood half a dozen elven guards. Another half dozen lingered on the stairs below. Straight ahead was a freefall of many more feet than Darien cared to consider. He gulped his heart back to its regular place and, faking calmness, drew his sword.

Melvin made a grunt of exertion and, with a puff of smoke, one of the elves below them turned into a donkey.

The guards were too startled by their friend's transformation to notice Melvin's sigh of relief.

The donkey hee-hawed and clopped clumsily on the steps, teetering close to the edge before rearing itself back toward the tree trunk. A few of the guards started to snicker at their friend's predicament, before one held up his hand for silence and glared at the three humans. They all raised their weapons, another jumbled assortment of wood and steel that included at least one boomerang.

Darien gripped his sword in both hands and chose his target—a stocky elf with a short sword standing on the steps above them. He and Darien were almost eye to eye.

But then a gasp arose collectively from the elves.

Darien followed their horrified gazes. A dagger, curved and jagged and bright in the last rays of daylight, hovered in mid-air behind the guards on the lower steps.

"More magic!" cried a guard.

The dagger traced an arc through the air, fast as lightning. The guards closest to it hollered and jumped away. The dagger jabbed out at one of them; he shrieked and nearly toppled over the back of an equally terrified donkey. The dagger pulled back and hesitated as if deciding its first victim.

The elves did not wait. In unison, they all turned and screamed and ran up the stairs as quick as their little legs would carry them. The donkey, honking and bellowing, clambered awkwardly after them.

When they had gone, Darien heaved a sigh, and smiled faintly at his best friend. "Nice trick, Melvin."

But Melvin had gone pale, his eyes glued to the still-hovering dagger, and shook his head. "That's not me."

They all watched as the dagger approached them, bobbing through the air. Darien awkwardly raised his sword, wondering if it would be any good against an enchanted weapon, and Melvin put his hand to the dagger hilt in his belt, but then the mysterious blade paused, hesitated, and disappeared.

There was a rustling and, suddenly, Princess Tristis appeared before them.

Or—her head, at least.

"Quick, follow me," she said.

"Where's the rest of you?" said Melvin.

"I'm wearing an invisibility cloak," she answered, as if it should have been obvious. "Come, we must go before they come back." A moment later, there was more rustling and suddenly all of Princess Tristis appeared before them, holding a shimmering bundle of material and the curved dagger. Her blonde hair was messy from being under the cloak's hood, but her expression was as serious as ever. "Put this on. Try to cover as much of yourselves as possible, and follow me. If we get separated, meet me at the bathing pool."

She thrust the invisibility cloak at Melvin, who barely caught it, and the three of them had no choice but to huddle together beneath the folds of fabric, light as spider threads, and follow the princess into the village.

* * *

"The hunt will continue into the night," said the princess. "They will follow the direction you took and will not think to look for us here."

The invisibility cloak fell from the men's shoulders. Zoicite draped it over his arm as the three of them looked off into the surrounding woods. From the shore of the river, they could not hear the search parties in the distant forest; either they were too far, or the raucous was drowned out by the gurgling waterfall.

"How can you be so sure?" Zoicite said.

Tristis dropped her curved dagger onto the sand. "Elves are not known for their cunning."

"Not all elves," Melvin muttered, watching the princess. A girl who was shorter than Melvin was a rare thing, and it was disconcerting looking down into her face. But she held herself with the pride of royalty and an intelligence that belied her race. "Thank you for helping us, Y-your Highness."

"You may call me Tristis," she said, dark eyes flashing toward him. "And are you the one called Sir Darien?"

He started. "Um, n-no. That's—"

"I'm Darien."

Tristis turned to him and reached into the sleeve of her white dress, pulling out a vial attached to a broken leather cord—Serena's vial of magic pearls. Darien snatched it from the princess; she did not try to stop him. "Where did you get these?" he asked.

"A girl gave them to me, in a dream." She sighed quietly, sadly. "The sorcerer stole her heart, but with her final breath she gave these to me and said your name."

"And she . . . is she . . ."

"She is not dead," said Zoicite. "None of them are. We only need to get to them before—" He gulped, and looked again at the princess, but she was staring at Melvin.

Embarrassed, Melvin dropped his gaze, analyzing the toe of his boot as it dug into the dirt.

"You are very powerful," she said.

A blush rose to Melvin's cheeks. "I'm . . . I'm still learning."

"Your Highness," said Zoicite, "how many nights have you had these dreams? How many times has the sorcerer taken you?"

"Too many to count. But he took my sister twice, and now she is gone. She is quick to love, my sister. Her heart was not difficult to claim."

"He has taken eleven princesses total," said the prince. "Well, eight princesses and three queens. You are the twelfth."

"And he is trying to take my heart, like the rest."

Zoicite nodded, slowly, but Tristis seemed unfazed.

"Well, he may have it," she said. "I have no need of it. Come, you must be hungry. I stole some bread from the kitchens." She sat down by the water and produced some sweet-smelling loaves from a pack, handing one to each traveler. They gratefully accepted the treat; it felt like days had passed since their hurried breakfast with the dwarfs. "I do apologize for my father and the way you were treated. Their games do not usually get so out of hand."

"Games?" Darien barked.

Tristis pursed her lips. "Please believe me when I say that no harm would have come to you. The staged beheading . . . it is a prank they have played on many visitors in the past. Usually they drop the axe next to the poor soul's head, and the person screams or cries, and then they all laugh and tease him for it. They think it is hilarious. But then, this time, they did not get the chance."

Melvin fidgeted, tearing chunks from his loaf of bread and refusing to meet the princess's gaze.

"Don't tell me they weren't going to throw us in jail either," said Darien.

"Oh, no, they probably would have done that, but only for a short time. They like to think they have a reputation in the wider world, that humans believe we are something to fear."

"My kingdom stopped trading with the elves some generations ago," said Zoicite, folding up the invisibility cloak. "Now I can see why."

"I am sorry. I know their actions make no sense." When Zoicite tried to hand the cloak to her, she shook her head at him. "Please, keep it. You will need it more than I."

"I've never seen anything like it," said the prince, setting it in his lap. The material was visible when no one was wearing it, but just barely, the sheen reflecting the blue sky and green forest like a funhouse mirror.

"It is dwarf-made," said Tristis, and Melvin detected something in her tone other than despair or bitterness for once. Something whimsical.

"Dwarf-made?" repeated Zoicite, looking at her with surprise. "I thought they only did weapons. And mirrors."

Tristis shook her head. "I do not know if they still do needle crafts, but there was a time when they were quite adept at magical garments. Invisibility cloaks, tunics that could not be punctured by the point of any sword, seven-league boots."

Zoicite folded the cloak and set it beside Tristis's forgotten curved dagger—it nearly disappeared into the rocky sand. "How do you know all this?"

The princess hesitated, but only briefly. "There is a library beneath the oldest sycamore tree. It was established by a great elven king, many years ago—before my people adopted their mindless attachment to pleasure and amusement. The library has since fallen into disrepair. When I discovered it as a child, many of the books had been destroyed by mildew, but some survived. One was on dwarven culture. I became enthralled with it. The dwarfs are so unlike the elves. So . . . rational. I admire them. I've read that book many times." Then she murmured, half to herself, "When I am queen, I shall reestablish the library to its former greatness—and elven children will attend school again, and read."

"They will overthrow you," said Melvin. Then, afraid he may have offended her, he stammered, "I mean—not to say—"

"You are right," she said, her eyes soft upon his face. "They will not like it. But I will be queen. And . . . and future generations will be glad to have regained the intelligence we have squandered."

There was a silence in which Melvin stared red-faced at his hands. Clearing his throat, he began nervously picking at the white pebbles scattered over the shore. "We met them," he muttered. "The dwarfs."

Tristis's eyes widened. "You've been to the dwarf kingdom?"

Melvin blinked behind his big glasses. "Ah—no. We only met seven of them . . ."

"He means the miners," said Zoicite. "They live at the base of the mountains, not a morning's ride from here."

"I did not know there were any so close," said the princess. "Perhaps I shall be permitted to meet them someday."

"And the cloak?" said Zoicite. "How did you come to find it?"

"The book described an invisibility cloak, and it sounded like a piece of material that my father used as a tablecloth in his treasure room. So one day I went to look at it more closely and found that it was exactly what I thought it was. It must have been a gift from the dwarfs to elven royalty a long time ago. And so I took it."

Darien dusted breadcrumbs from his tunic. "Thanks for the food, and for coming to rescue us. You know why we're here, right?"

"To rescue the princesses that the sorcerer has captured. And you know that my sister is among them. I will help you in any way I can."

Darien smiled gratefully, but there was a tired, nervous look in his eyes. "We need to come up with a plan."

"Yes, that would be wise," said Tristis. "My plan is to fall asleep."

Darien quirked an eyebrow at her. "That almost sounded like a joke."

The princess lowered her head, and Melvin wondered if he saw a smile. Or . . . something that looked like perhaps it could almost be a smile.

"Well, yes, that's a start," said Zoicite. "But I'm afraid you have the easy part in this, princess."

Tristis cleared her throat and tucked a strand of pale hair behind one ear—expressionless again. "Yes. Will you all be following me tonight?"

The men traded glances.

"We cannot all go under the cloak," said Darien. "It doesn't cover us enough."

"Getting to the lake is not a problem, cloak or not," said Zoicite. "But crossing the lake . . ."

Darien reached into his pocket and fingered the vial. "There is only one pearl left."

"So only one of us can go?"

"But how will that one person get back?" asked Melvin.

Darien shook his head. "How will we get all twelve princesses back?"

"The boat," said Zoicite. "The sorcerer had a boat. But it was small. It wouldn't hold but five people—six at the most."

"Then we will have to ensure the sorcerer cannot come after us while we ferry back and forth," said Darien, mindlessly rubbing his earlobe and staring into space.

"You are getting ahead of yourselves," said Tristis. "You have not yet decided how you will all get to the castle in the first place." When the men proceeded to fidget and frown to themselves, Tristis cast her dark gaze at Melvin. "Cannot the magician do something?"

Melvin's heart tripped to see her staring at him so intently, so hopefully. He coughed and looked away, and tossed his handful of the stones into the water. "Well, um . . . there are . . . there are a couple fish spells. . . . Or any number of flying creatures. Uh—birds, butterflies . . . fairies."

"Owls?" said Darien.

Melvin started. "Uh . . . yes. Yes, at least one owl spell."

Darien's brow drew together, concerned and thoughtful.

"I, for one," said Zoicite, "have little desire to be anything other than a man."

"Well we'll be transforming one way or another," said Melvin. "Either a merman, or, you know, whatever . . ."

The prince thought about this for a moment, before sighing heavily. "That is true. But at least merfolk have hands."

Melvin looked at Darien, but his friend looked back at him with some guilt.

"Clearly you know what you're doing," he said. "You're good at that magic thing. But . . . in case something were to happen . . . in case the spell failed . . . I can't risk . . . I have to . . ."

"I know," said Melvin, pushing up his glasses, and it was true. Though they had never talked about it, not once, Melvin was well aware of Darien's feelings for Serena. He knew how desperate he must be to get her back. "You need to save Serena," he said, then to Zoicite, "and you need to save your wife."

"We need to save them all," said the prince.

Melvin nodded. "But there is only one pearl. It is between you two to decide who uses it."

"But you are the magician," said Tristis. "Your powers may be needed. You will be facing a sorcerer. What can steel and arrows do against a sorcerer?"

Melvin felt embarrassed at her words and lowered his head, his messy brown hair hiding his face. He shrugged, not wanting to tell her that he wasn't _really_ a magician.

But then . . . he _had_ bested the sorcerer that one time, when he turned him into a swan. If she knew about that, would she be impressed?

"I'll figure something out," said Melvin, barely louder than a mumble. "But . . . but it isn't my place. Darien and Zoicite have . . . they have . . ." _Love._ But he couldn't say it.

"Serena gave the pearl to me," Darien pointed out, gripping the vial in his fist.

"My wife and child are on the other side of that lake," said Zoicite. "I will not stand idly by while that sorcerer—!" His words fizzled into an angry growl.

"I will rescue Amy, too. I will rescue—"

"How?" Zoicite cried. "You do not know how to use that sword. You do not know magic. And . . . aren't you afraid of _water?_"

Darien sucked in a breath through his nostrils, his face darkening. "The Guardian gave the pearl to me."

Zoicite turned away, shoulders shaking.

Darien felt a surge of pride at winning the argument, but it tasted sour, knowing that Zoicite was right. He could not fight. He did not know magic. He did not have a pregnant wife . . . he couldn't even call Serena his girlfriend. The only reason Zoicite had stopped arguing was because he put so much faith into Serena's choice. Because she was the Guardian.

But—Serena _had_ given the pearl to Darien. She had called for him, in her last breath. He couldn't let her down. He couldn't _not_ come for her.

"Have Melvin turn you into a fish, or a bird," he said. "And come help me defeat him. But . . . but I will be using the pearl."

After a terse silence, Zoicite muttered, "The sun is setting." It was as much of an acceptance as Darien could expect.

They all turned to look at the last orange streaks bright in the sky, illuminating the black silhouettes of oaks and maples. They watched until the splinter of fire disappeared into the horizon, replaced with pale gray dusk.

The princess sighed. "I suppose it is time for me to enact my plan." She took her traveling cloak—plain and brown and simple next to the invisibility cloak—and balled it up as a pillow.

The men stood.

"We'll be in the forest," said Darien. "We won't be far."

Tristis nodded and laid back, perfectly straight, her hands folded on her stomach as if she were already in the glass coffin.

But as her companions turned toward the cover of the trees, she called back to them in a whisper. "Magician?"

Melvin halted and glanced down at her pale form. Perhaps Darien and Zoicite had not heard, for they kept walking. "Uh, y-yes, Your Highness?"

"What do you think is the happiest animal there is?"

He blinked down at her gray form, ghostlike in her white dress. After a long pause, he said, "The hyena."

"What is a hyena?"

"Um . . . it's an animal that lives in the desert. They . . . laugh."

"They laugh?"

"Yes, Your Highness."

"And do you think it would be possible to turn me into one of them?"

Melvin's hand sought out the spell book hidden in his tunic, but he did not need to look inside it to know the answer. There were no hyenas in fairy tales. "I don't have a spell for that."

The princess said nothing.

"You wouldn't want to be a hyena."

"Wouldn't I?"

"No. They may laugh a lot—but they are not kind, or just."

Another long silence. Melvin began to wonder if the princess had fallen asleep, but then she whispered, perhaps to herself, "I think my father would make a fine hyena."

Melvin grinned to himself and turned back toward the forest.

"Magician?"

Again, he paused.

"If it seems that you will not be able to save us all," she said, eyes unblinking as they searched the starry sky, "I ask that you leave me. Take the others first. And tell my sister . . . tell her about the library. Nobody else knows about it."

Melvin's smile vanished. "The sorcerer . . . he's a lot stronger than me."

The wind picked up, sending a light spray from the waterfall into Melvin's face. He wiped his glasses with his sleeves and when he looked again at the princess, she was watching him. Her eyes were beautiful, even darker beneath the twilight sky, and shimmered with unshed tears.

"I know," she said, so quietly he had to strain to hear her. Then she sighed, and shut her eyes before any tears could fall. "Tonight I fear he is stronger than me, too."

* * *

_please review._


	16. Sleeping Beauty

Thanks to all reviewers and KaitlynFall for betaing!

Enjoy!

Return to Aysel: Another Grimm Tale  
Alicia Blade

Chapter Sixteen: Sleeping Beauty_  
She gave him a little cloak, and said, "If you put on that,  
you will be invisible, and then you can steal after the twelve."_  
from The Twelve Dancing Princesses

As a full moon climbed over the horizon's sparse clouds and the waterfall roared beyond the shore, Darien stared down at his two dearest possessions—the little vial, with its single magic pearl, and Serena's golden locket. He could not tear his gaze from them.

The two pictures in the locket had water damage, the ink was running and the edges were warped, but he could still see Serena's dazzling smile beaming up at him. He could not help wondering—would these tiny images be the last he ever saw of her? He gritted his teeth until his jaw ached, gripping the locket so tightly that it left an imprinted knot-design in his palm.

And the pearl—the last thing she had done before the sorcerer took her. She had called for him with her last breath. She had known to give him the magic pearl. She had known that he would come for her.

And he would come for her. He would find her. He would save her, and keep her safe forever.

He glanced over the foliage that surrounded the river's rocky shore, at Princess Tristis's motionless form. She had not moved since she'd lied down—as still and pale as a corpse. It was a horrible sight, but also lovely in the moonlight.

He was sure Serena was as lovely . . .

He shook the thought away. Every time he thought of her half-dead in a glass coffin, bile rose to his mouth.

At his side, Zoicite seemed equally agitated. His gaze shifted restlessly between the princess, the direction of the elven village, and any sounds that interrupted the silence—the padding of animal paws, the fluttering of birds wings, the chirping of thousands of frogs.

Melvin was leaning against the trunk of a tree, weary eyes on the princess and yawning every few minutes.

And then, finally, when Darien felt as though his heart would explode if forced to wait a moment longer, the princess stirred.

She stretched her lithe arms up above her head and sat up with a peaceful sigh. She blinked at the churning water of the bathing pool, speckled with silver.

She stood. She was still wearing her shoes from the daytime and had no other dress to change into, so she went straight to the pool. There was a moment's hesitation on the shore before she gracefully stepped out onto the water. She did not sink. The rippling waves held her weight for one, two, three steps, and then she began to descend, as if she were walking down a staircase rather than sinking into a river. Neither her skirt nor her hair floated up onto the surface—the water did not touch her at all. And then the moonlight closed over her head and she was gone.

They followed her without a word. As they walked, Darien draped the cloak over his shoulders, but left his head visible—it seemed a courtesy to his companions.

Though he had heard Serena describe her trips though the mirrors, Darien was not entirely sure what to expect once they descended into the sorcerer's enchanted realm. He did not even trust that they _would_ descend, rather than just sinking to the bottom of the river. But, once he took a cautious step out onto the water, his weight held, just as the princess's had. And if he squinted his eyes, he could even catch a glimpse of the first stair hovering just beneath the water surface. So he stepped, his foot hitting the solid surface, and kept on going.

He held his breath and shut his eyes tight as he disappeared completely under the water, choking back the urge to panic as the surface closed over him. But no sooner had he taken the last step beneath the water's surface than he found himself not in the river, but rather on a dark, winding staircase carved from stone. Tristis's quiet footsteps echoed in the distance.

Darien pulled the hood of the invisibility cloak over his head.

They followed the winding staircase to the shore of the lake just in time to see the sorcerer shoving the small boat off the shore. Darien had expected to see only one girl accompanying the sorcerer—but there were two.

Had Serena been wrong? Were there going to be more than twelve princesses after all?

Having no fear of being spotted, Darien walked down to the edge of the sandy beach while Zoicite and Melvin lingered behind. From where he stood, he could see Tristis's sad dark eyes gazing into the water as the oars slipped in and out of the surface.

And the second girl—she was familiar. Darien squinted at her, frowning, as the sorcerer rowed them slowly away. He could long hair in loose ringlets, appearing dark green in the cave's darkness. She was pale, and pretty, but he did not recognize her.

Could she be another princess that nobody knew about?

Diamond and the two girls reached the other side of the lake and ascended the steps, disappearing into the glowing castle.

Darien removed the cloak hood as his companions joined him on the shore.

"Did you recognize that girl?" said Darien, his gaze transfixed on the castle in the distance.

Zoicite shook his head. "She looked too tall to be an elf."

"She was human. You're sure there aren't any more princesses in the world?"

"Not that I know of . . . but then, I didn't realize the mermaids still existed before I saw them, so who knows?"

Darien looked down at the lake. The waves lapped at his feet, attempting to look innocent, harmless, beautiful.

But water could swell up around you, pull you down, invade your lungs, hold you captive, and there would be no escape, no help—you couldn't even scream.

Jaw clenching, he closed his eyes and took the vial out of his pocket. His heart hammered in his chest. His lungs already burned for want of air—all imagination. All torturous anticipation.

He stepped into the lake until the water lapped at his calves, then sat down in the sandy muck and uncorked the small bottle. A single magic pearl rolled onto his palm.

"Think it'll ruin your pants?" said Melvin.

Darien glanced up. Melvin shrugged, then looked up at the cave's ceiling, allowing privacy even though Darien was nothing more than a disembodied head at the moment.

Rolling his eyes, Darien removed his boots and pants, then tilted his head back and swallowed the pearl.

The transformation was quick, but blindingly painful. He gritted his teeth to keep from screaming as his bones and muscles were contorted and reshaped. Tendons stretching, bones throbbing, ligaments splitting—he hadn't known one could live through such agony.

Yet soon he was sitting in the sand, only his torso above water, staring at a silvery fishtail. The air felt thin and unsatisfying as he breathed it in, as if he would suffocate to stay above water for too long.

"We'll follow you if we can," said the prince.

Darien nodded and, holding his pants tightly in one hand and his sword in the other, though forced to leave the boots behind, he dove beneath the water and headed toward the castle.

It was minutes before he realized that he could breathe. And still minutes after that before he realized that he was swimming—not just floundering about, but actually swimming. Gracefully. Powerfully.

And then, suddenly, he was no longer afraid. At least, not of the water and everything that could lurk beneath it; everything that could happen to him in its depths.

It felt amazing.

But he did not linger on these thoughts. It was mere moments before he reached the castle and pulled himself, dripping but not panting, up onto the sandy beach. The pain came again. Every bit as agonizing. Every bit as quick.

Barefoot yet clothed, dripping wet yet invisible, Darien darted up the massive staircase of the sorcerer's enchanted castle.

* * *

Darien arrived in the sorcerer's ballroom just in time to see the last steps of the waltz performed by Tristis and—

Melvin?

He stumbled on the last step, barely catching his balance, and seized the folds of the invisibility cloak to keep himself covered.

It was indeed Melvin, from the messy brown hair to the small stature hardly taller than the elf's, the thick glasses and even a faint blush upon his cheeks.

And yet also not Melvin. Too graceful. Too sure. Too good of a dancer.

Darien ducked behind a massive marble column and watched as Melvin spun Tristis in a twirl, her white linen skirt flaring around her legs. Then Melvin paused and lowered her into a dip.

Darien knew it was the sorcerer, but why would he be impersonating _Melvin_?

He noted that the mystery woman hovered at the edge of the dance floor, swaying on her feet and watching the dance with drowsy eyelids, but she was of little interest compared with the dancing couple. Just another victim.

Balanced in the sorcerer's arms, Tristis met his gaze with poise. Her face, though still not happy, was affectionate, patient, expectant.

But did she expect to die? Or did she expect to be saved?

Melvin's lips crept into catlike grin. Darien caught a glint of silver eyes behind Melvin's glasses as the sorcerer raised his free hand and draped his fingers over Tristis's chest. Just watching, Darien imagined he could feel the steady heartbeat beneath that touch.

He held his breath.

Melvin laughed—a throatier laugh than had ever come from that body before. "You were quite the conquest, my dear," he said, looking down at his twelfth prize. "How extraordinary to think that the imposter magician could have succeeded where I had failed. To think that a few silly magic tricks was all it would take to win you."

Tristis said nothing. Her eyes had gone blank. Waiting.

She barely flinched when Melvin disappeared and she was suddenly in the arms of the white-haired sorcerer. She gasped, but did not scream, as cruel fingers pierced her flesh and arose, quickly, with their prize—a throbbing, bloodied heart.

A tear escaped Tristis's dark eyes as she stared up into the man's delighted face.

He smirked and his gaze slid to the girl, unable to wipe away the single tear on her cheek. "Thank you, my sweet. It has been a pleasure. Now, you may sleep."

Tristis's eyes closed, and she collapsed in the sorcerer's hold. He dropped her, letting her crumble to the hard floor. Darien flinched.

The woman watched this all with little emotion, as if she could barely see what was happening right before her eyes, much less comprehend it. When Darien glanced at her, she was caught in the middle of a dazed yawn.

The sorcerer pulled a small box from beneath the folds of his elaborate tunic and put Tristis's heart inside, then returned the box to its hiding place. Swooping down, he picked up the girl and carried her toward the far wall, where twelve caskets were lined up in a row. They all had glass lids set upon ornately carved wooden bases, and though Darien was too far away to see what lay inside them, he already knew.

The sorcerer placed Tristis into the twelfth glass coffin, shut the lid, and turned his back on her as if he had not a moment to spare.

He strode to the woman. She seemed to perk up, just barely, as Diamond came near, and she met his gaze with composure and curiosity. Diamond paused a mere step away from her.

"Emerald," Diamond said, his voice gruff, a far cry from the sadistic glee of a minute before.

Emerald. Emerald. Darien strained to remember where he'd heard that name before.

Emerald listed her head until her dark green hair cascaded over one shoulder. She opened her mouth and Darien could see words forming on her tongue—"Diamo—?"—but they turned into a yawn.

Diamond reached both hands toward her, grasped her upper arms, and pulled her against his chest.

Darien flinched, hating to see another innocent girl caught in this man's trap. Watching him tear our Tristis's heart had already made Darien sick to his stomach—he could not bear to watch it happen to another girl when he could do nothing.

And yet, something seemed different here.

And then he remembered—Emerald, the girl from Cashlin. Serena had mentioned her in her tale to the dwarfs, the girl who knew Diamond and his missing brother, who had come to the castle seeking help.

Serena had said she was a florist. Not a princess. Not a queen.

And all of the coffins were full.

And—and they were not dancing. Rather, the sorcerer just stood there, holding the sleepy girl against him with his eyes screwed shut.

Emerald, for her part, seemed both unmoved and unconcerned by the embrace. After a moment, it seemed as if she had, in fact, fallen asleep. But then she yawned again.

Diamond pulled back, but retained his grip on her as he drank in her face with starved eyes.

"It is almost time," he said. Only the hollow silence of the ballroom allowed the words to reach Darien's ears. "Almost time."

Emerald had no response. After a flickering look into Diamond's penetrating stare, she closed her eyes and sighed.

"Yes—sleep now," said the sorcerer.

As if she had been waiting to hear those very words, Emerald slumped against Diamond, limp and fast asleep. He laid her gently out on the marble floor and brushed a strand of hair back from her brow. Darien cringed at the gentleness the sorcerer used. The adoration in his eyes.

Diamond darted to the back of the ballroom where a raised dais held a long oak table. And on that table were eleven small boxes—twelve once the sorcerer reached into his cloak and produced the box which held Tristis's heart. His face was flushed with pride, his eyes glimmering as he surveyed his haul.

Diamond cast one more look at Emerald laid out on the floor, then laughed—a single bellowing laugh. With a whip of his cloak, he turned and strode off the dais and out of the ballroom.

Fear seized Darien, questions spinning in his head. Where was he going? When would he be back? What was he going to do with those hearts? What could Darien do to stop him?

But he forced himself to ignore the worries and take confidence from the invisibility cloak as he rushed to the bank of coffins.

The first two girls he did not recognize—one girl with immaculately pale skin and odd sea-green curls, and a tall brunette with honey-brown hair.

And then there was Serena's mother.

He paused, his heart lurching.

He knew now, of course, that this woman who had made them sandwiches during study sessions and baked cookies for school events, was actually a queen. But he was not prepared to see her like this, garbed in a silver and white ball gown, draped with pearls and jewels, her hair fastened into the same buns and tails that Serena so often wore.

Shaken, he continued on.

There was a woman about Serena's mom's age, but with purplish black hair cascading in waves to her waist.

And then a princess with gold-blonde hair and a heart-shaped face. And then—

Darien's stomach dropped.

A child. A mere child. Two years old at most, with gold curls and a round face that matched the blonde's—her daughter? Her eyes forever closed, her small lips forever breathless.

Who could be so cruel?

He recognized Sirenetta, the mermaid princess—with her shiny black hair and pearlescent skin.

Amy—with the curve of her stomach that brought another ache to Darien's heart and made him glad that Zoicite was not there to see his wife like this.

Queen Snow White, or just Raye—with her snow white skin and blood-red lips.

Another elf, remarkably similar to her sister, and yet even in deathlike sleep Darien could tell that _she_ knew how to smile, and did so with relish.

And then . . .

He froze. The air was sucked out of the room, out of his chest. It was as if all the thousands of candles had been snuffed out, plunging him into dark, with only her face visible in the blackness.

He sunk to his knees beside Serena's coffin, staring at her angelic face through the glass. As beautiful now as the day he had first seen her, loitering outside the school cafeteria, talking to Melvin. Laughing. The way the sound had carried to his ears and left him dazed. The way his heart yearned in a way it never had before, in a way he did not think was possible. The way he had known, instantly, that he must meet her. That, somehow, he must know her.

And when she had disappeared for three long weeks, how the school had turned dark, empty, pointless. But when she had returned—

But her laughter was silenced, now.

Motionless. Breathless. She was a porcelain statue, a tomb of her former self.

His fingers trembled as they pressed against the cool glass.

How could anyone do this to her?

He pulled himself back from despair. She was sleeping, perhaps. Heartless, perhaps. But not dead.

Her cheeks were still flushed, her lips parted as if waiting for that reviving breath of air.

Or.

Perhaps.

_I'm Sleeping Beauty,_ she'd said.

And that was one story he was familiar with.

Darien glanced up at Emerald and saw that she was still sleeping soundly near the center of the room, then forced his fingers between the glass dome and the carved wooden base of the coffin. The glass was heavier than it looked, but after a moment of straining, he made it budge and slid it far enough to uncover her pale face.

He had, in fact, read the story to her, the first time they'd talked. When she'd been so desperate to hear a happy ending, though only now did he understand why.

"_There she lay, so beautiful that he could not turn his eyes away."_

He tentatively reached down and stroked a honey curl off her brow, half-expecting to wake her with the merest touch, but she did not stir. The image of her hollow chest rose unbidden in his thoughts, unbearable.

Hands supporting him on either side of the coffin, he leaned down toward her. Nervously wet his lips. He allowed his eyes to close on her beauty. Felt his heart flutter at the first brush of warmth.

"_And he stooped down and gave her a kiss."_

The kiss was stolen, but it was heaven on Darien's lips, filled with every moment of hope and lovesickness, all the aching anticipation he had felt since that very first day. Her hair golden in the sunlight, her eyes bright and burning with joy, her enchanting smile—

"_As he kissed her, Briar Rose opened her eyes and awoke, and looked at him quite sweetly."_

He drew back, slowly. He opened his eyes. Held his breath. Looked down upon her face, long ago memorized. Watched. Waited. Hoped.

Cruel laughter echoed off the marble walls.

Darien jolted and looked up, realizing too late that the hood of his invisibility cloak had fallen down around his shoulders.

The sorcerer had returned and was standing on the dais, his hands spread out on the wooden table, watching Darien with mirthful eyes. The boxes were all open, revealing the steadily beating hearts within them. And now there was also a giant book, edged in gold.

"How very sweet," the sorcerer said, the words dripping like poison from his lips. "Her prince has come to wake her. Just like a fairy story. And yet," he lifted his hands, palms open toward the ceiling, "why does your maiden fair not awaken at your kiss?"

Darien's hands clenched around the wooden opening of Serena's coffin, blood pounding in his fingertips, and he forced himself to stand.

"Ah! I think I have solved the mystery," said the sorcerer, raising a thoughtful finger, and then ticking off, one finger at a time. "You are not a true prince. You are not her first kiss. And—ah yes—you are not her _one true love._"

Darien tried to gulp, but his mouth was as dry as his throat, panic and fear and hatred welling inside of him. His sword felt heavy on his hip, but he did not reach for it.

"I understand your heartache, my friend. I, too, once lost the love of my life, the only girl worthy of my love, to one who is inferior to myself. To one who never deserved her." His tone had grown bitter and vile, his crystalline eyes darkening in the rich warmth of the candlelight. "But—what is true love to a sorcerer?"

He was smiling again, but it was a horrible, leering smile. Eyeing the hearts laid out before him, he picked something off the table—a stiletto dagger, its long, thin blade gleaming with the light of a thousand flames.

Dread filled Darien. His fingers brushed against the hilt of his sword.

But the sorcerer was so far away. How fast could he be beside him? What defense did he have against magic?

"Ah, I nearly forgot!" the sorcerer cried suddenly. "I was to have an audience for this, my greatest performance."

Darien wrapped his fingers around the hilt, felt the thin ridge of gold pressing into his palm.

"Sapphire!" the sorcerer yelled. Darien jumped at the sound.

There was a pause while Diamond waited, wholly unconcerned by Darien's presence, and Darien thought how ironic it was for Lady Emerald to be sleeping at this vital juncture. After searching for these brothers, for this Sapphire, and now she would dream right through it.

Then the other brother came, walking unhurried through the massive double doors that Diamond had come through earlier. He was slightly shorter than his sibling, and while Diamond's hair was silvery-white, Sapphire's was midnight blue, nearing black. Unlike his brother who wore silk and satin and gold trimmings, Sapphire was dressed simply in unadorned linen, like a prized servant.

He scowled at his brother as he entered the ballroom, his silence containing a thousand hateful words. Diamond did not seem to mind.

"Ah, good!" said the sorcerer. "I wanted you, my good assistant, to be here for my finest accomplishment."

Sapphire said nothing, just folded his arms and tucked his hands into his blue sleeves.

"I say enough of these silly transformations," Diamond continued. "No more frogs. No more sea serpents. No—today, we shall transform a person's _heart._"

Sapphire's glare faltered for a moment, betraying fear, though he quickly covered it up. His brother laughed.

"Not _your_ heart, dear brother," said Diamond. In a majestic gesture, he swooped his arm out toward the ballroom. "Behold—our subject."

Sapphire removed his suspicious gaze from Diamond, and Darien watched as all color drained from the man's face.

"Emerald!" he cried, and if his face had contained all hatred earlier, his cry contained all love. He ran to her and kneeled at her side, scooping her limp body up in his arms. "What have you done to her?"

"Patience, brother. She is only sleeping." Diamond lifted the stiletto again and ran the skinny blade along his fingers. "For now."

Sapphire shook his head, his jaw working against clenched teeth. "No! I will die before I let you harm her!"

"And it may yet come to that." Diamond burst into a humorless laugh. "But for now, I have a new use for you." He grabbed the first box on the table. "Currently, Emerald only sleeps, but I could kill her with but a snap of my fingers. Do you doubt it?"

Darien's fist tightened around the sword hilt. _He _did not doubt it for a moment. If the man had no qualms about killing a 2-year-old child, or a pregnant woman, or—

When Sapphire did not respond, Diamond continued. "And so, your role in these proceedings, dear brother, is to ensure that the unhappy gentleman by the coffins does not stop me as I perform my final ritual."

Sapphire started and glanced at Darien, meeting his eyes for the first time. His eyes widened in recognition. "Darien?"

Daren frowned, sure he had never seen this man before, but realization soon followed. _No more transformations, no more frogs . . ._

This had been Serena's Endymion.

Betrayal and jealousy churned in his gut.

"Once my final ritual is performed, _then_ I will awaken the lovely Emerald. But if you allow the knight in shining armor to get by you, then Emerald will die before you can so much as call her name."

Darien gulped as Diamond lifted the first heart. It throbbed in his palm.

"Now then, with all reunions done," said Diamond, "we shall begin."

Darien realized what the sorcerer was planning not moments before he plunged the stiletto into the soft tissue.

There was a strangled gasp behind Darien. Spinning, he looked down at Princess Raye, three coffins away. Her eyes wide open, staring blankly out of her glass enclosure. Her hands pressing against her hollow chest. Her face contorted in pain. Then the life drained from her and she collapsed to the satin pillow.

Stunned, Darien turned back to Diamond. Blood dripped over the sorcerer's fingers and into a silver chalice on the table. He reached for a second heart.

"No!"

This time, when the knife plunged through, it was the mermaid that sucked in a pained final breath, and Darien realized with sinking revulsion that there was no rhyme to these proceedings.

Any one of them could die next.

Diamond picked up a third heart.

Darien ran toward the stage, but then Sapphire was before him, hands out as if pleading. Seeing only red, Darien almost barreled right through the man, until two hands gripped his shoulders, pushing him back.

"Stop him!" Darien cried.

"I cannot."

"Then let me!"

The knife plunged. Behind Darien, Tristis's black eyes opened to the ceiling—glossy with pain, with fear, and then, peace.

Darien's head swam as he found himself tossed into Sapphire's helpless stare. Sapphire shook his head.

"He's _killing _them!"

The grip on his shoulders tightened, Sapphire's nails digging into his flesh.

"I cannot fight him," Sapphire said, every word a struggle. "Not when he has Emerald in his power."

The pretty golden-haired princess cried out—her face filled with agony, crystal tears flooding her blue eyes—before she, too, went limp.

Darien's muscles burned. He gripped his sword handle, realizing in that instant that he may have to kill this man.

That he _would_ kill this man.

"You would trade her one life," he said in a last desperate attempt, "for all twelve of theirs?"

He saw Sapphire gulp and their wills clashing like sparks before them.

"Wouldn't you?" Sapphire whispered.

Darien jerked away from him, panting and furious. Fireworks burst in his head, the world appeared splattered with blood and magic, and this man alone was preventing him from saving Serena, from saving everyone.

His knuckles burned white. He drew his sword back.

Another gasp from behind him, mixed with a tormented cry.

Darien's heart lurched. He spun around in the last moment that Serena's bright blue eyes stared up at the ballroom's high ceilings. Their light drained away and she collapsed back.

"NO!"

He dropped his sword and ran to her. Grasped her cold hands. Searched her face for a flush, a breath, a flicker of eyelids.

But nothing came.

Serena was dead.


	17. The Cave of Lost Souls

Thanks to KaitlynFall for beta-ing and endless encouragement. ^_^

Enjoy!

Return to Aysel: Another Grimm Tale  
Alicia Blade

Chapter Seventeen: The Cave of Lost Souls_  
Death seized him with his ice-cold hand and led him into a cave  
below the earth. There he saw how thousands and thousands  
of candles were burning in countless rows._  
from Godfather Death

Serena jolted awake, screaming. She reached for her chest and pressed her palm over her fluttering heart. But no—though she panted for breath, though tears of pain filled her eyes, she could feel no heart throbbing beneath her skin.

Breath settling, she looked around. Gone were the ballroom, the princesses, the sorcerer. Gone the castle, the lake, the staircase. Gone, everything.

She was sitting on a cold dirt floor, in a cave with low rocky ceilings that seemed to have no end.

And she was surrounded by candles. Thousands and thousands of candles. Long, elegant tapers stuck into iron candelabras. Squat round candles that burned steady and slow. Miniature tealights—little more than balls of wax pressed into the stone. Some grouped together in huddled masses. Some standing solitary. The disorderly chaos of the candles continued away from Serena until it blurred into a golden halo. The cavern was enormous.

Many of the candles were burning strong, casting a bright orange glow over the cave. But other flames flickered and flashed, ever-threatening to be extinguished should a mere breath pass by them. Some candles did not burn at all, their blackened wicks curled and ready to crumble into ash. Some had never been lit.

"Honestly, Serena."

She started at a deep voice, loud in the chamber, though he'd spoken softly.

"How many times do I have to save your life before it sticks?"

Trembling, she turned and gaped up at the man behind her.

Outlined in shadow, his skin glowed with the light of a thousand candles.

If she had had a heart, it would have stopped.

Or started again.

"Endymion!"

Pushing up from the cold ground, she threw herself into his embrace and sent them both crashing to the ground. He caught her just enough to soften her fall, and though he grunted from the collision, he started to laugh even as Serena buried her face into his tunic.

"This seems familiar," he said, holding her against him.

She was trembling when she pushed herself off his chest, just enough to cup his face in both hands and gaze down at him. Not a feature had changed. Even in the candlelight, she could make out the intense blue of his eyes, the quirk of a dimple as he smiled up at her, and that smile the same as before, affectionate and sarcastic at the same time.

"It is you," she said. Hot tears escaped her lashes.

There was no doubt, as there had been with her imposter. No confusion. No ambiguity.

Her very soul recognized this Endymion.

He nodded and said nothing, just smiled his secretive smile as he reached up his fingers to feel the soft curl of her bangs, to trace the subtle curve of her jaw, to run a thumb over her lips.

"I knew you would come," he said.

She sniffled, and as her gaze blurred before her she was forced to pull away, still sitting on his lap, and rub the tears from her eyes.

"How is this possible?" she said with a disbelieving laugh. "I thought I would never see you again. I thought there was no way. . . . But here you are. You're alive." She choked on the last word, and was too busy swiping tears away to notice Endymion's smile fall.

"No, Serena," he said. "I'm not alive."

"But I can see you. I can feel you." She grabbed up the front of his tunic in fistfuls.

He clenched his jaw, gaze now bordering on sorrowful. "That's because you aren't alive either."

She blinked at him. The tears had stopped. Her fists slowly released the material and unfolded, her fingers pressing into his chest.

"What are you talking about?"

Endymion slowly sat up. Serena did not even think to get off of him, and so just sat there and let him wrap his arms around her and place his forehead against hers—his skin was so warm, so soft, so real.

"We're in the Cave of Lost Souls."

She stared, wondering if he was teasing her, but he seemed so serious, none of that jesting glint that used to live in his gaze. Fear began to crawl up her spine.

"This is the place where people come after they die," he said and for the first time she heard a deep sadness in his voice. "They watch their life, in the mirror, and when they're ready to pass on, they go through the mirror and on to the afterlife."

He gestured over his shoulder and Serena peered around him, her gaze falling on a large round mirror, its surface dark but for a thousand pricks of candlelight, its golden frame ornately carved with images of mythic and magical creatures. It looked like the magic mirrors.

"But—" She hesitated. It did not make sense. She shook her head and looked at Endymion again. That small smile had returned, though it was with as much heartache as joy. "I don't believe you."

He reached up and wrapped one of her blonde pigtails around his hand, but said nothing. She frowned.

"You died two years ago. Why would you still be here?"

"Because I've been waiting for you."

There was a sharp pang in the base of Serena's stomach, and an aching in her bones.

"Waiting?"

He nodded.

"Here?"

"Yes."

She looked around again. Two years beneath this dark ceiling that threatened to collapse upon one's very soul. Two years of watching the candles flicker and burn and expire. Two years . . .

"I knew you would come, if I waited."

She gulped and looked at him again and, after a deep breath, she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face against his throat. "I'm here now."

She heard his heart beating steadily. Felt him smooth back her hair. Felt a stolen kiss against her temple.

"It hasn't been so bad," Endymion said, as if he could sense her horror. "The mirror—it mostly shows scenes of the life you lived, but sometimes you can also get it to show you the life you left behind. So—I could see you, sometimes. Watch you. And I wasn't lonely."

She squeezed her eyes shut and held him tighter. All this time she'd been longing for him. If only she'd known . . .

"It took awhile to figure out your world," he said with laughter in his tone. "This whole college thing . . . I didn't get it at first or why it was such a big deal. But . . ." He hesitated and trailed his fingers along the back of her neck, entwining them in the tendrils of hair. "I watched you defeat the Guardians and save my family and my home. And . . . I'm proud of you, Serena."

She shook her head. "All I wanted was to save you, and I failed."

"The only thing you failed at was that you didn't keep your promise to me."

Serena pulled away, aghast, and looked up at him. "What promise?"

But the teasing had returned, the slightly-crooked smile. "The one about that boy."

She blinked, and did not have to ask what boy he was talking about, or the promise he was speaking of.

_Promise me you'll give a kiss to that boy . . . _

"I never promised."

He laughed and stood suddenly, all but pushing her to the floor.

"Hey!" she cried, balling her fists, but Endymion's laughter soothed as much as it irritated her.

How very little had changed.

Still chuckling, he reached down and pulled her to her feet. "I know you didn't," he said, kissing the corner of her mouth. While she was still dazed, he tugged her toward the mirror. "Come on, you should see this."

He gripped her hand tightly as they stood before the mirror. At first she only saw their reflections looking back at them, fingers interlaced, and she had the peculiar thought that they made such a beautiful couple. And that Endymion looked like such a prince. And it gave her a sense of giddiness that was not unlike the giddiness she got when she looked at photos of herself and Darien.

She tensed.

Endymion caught her gaze in the reflection and winked.

Then the image began to swirl and shimmer and fade, the thousands of points of sparkling candlelight replaced with gigantic chandeliers. The cave distorted until it became a huge ballroom of marble and velvet.

She leaned forward and squinted until the shadows in the room took on human shapes.

The sorcerer was standing on a platform, holding up a beating heart. As she watched, he pierced the organ with a long, thin blade, and blood ran down his fingers and into a chalice on the table.

Endymion inched closer to her so that the full lengths of their arms were touching.

The sorcerer was not alone. Two men, both dark-haired, stood in the ballroom, near the coffins.

At first, they both looked like Endymion, and Serena's thoughts clouded with confusion.

But no. One was the sorcerer's brother, the fake Endymion. Sapphire.

And the other . . .

She began to tremble. The cave had not seemed cold before, but now goose bumps covered her arms and she could not feel her fingers.

"What is he doing there?"

"He came to rescue you," Endymion said. "He got the pearl that you'd given to the elf princess, and he followed her to the castle."

The sorcerer picked up another heart and stabbed it and this time Serena heard the strangled cry of a girl—had it come from one of the girls asleep in the coffins?

"He's going to be killed," she said, her breath coming in short gasps. Darien had come to rescue her and now he, too, would die.

She could feel Endymion's gaze on her, but she did not turn to him, could not look away from the scene playing on the mirror.

Darien was trying to get to the sorcerer, to stop him, but Sapphire was in the way. Darien had a sword. Darien—with a sword. Darien—wearing a cloak and a tunic and riding boots. Darien—her Darien.

When had he become a part of this world? This other side of her life? She'd been so sure he would never understand . . .

"I do not think he's going to die," Endymion said, so quietly that she barely heard him.

"How . . . ?"

"Come here, Serena." He turned away from the mirror and tugged on her hand. She did not want to leave the vision, for what would happen if Darien died and there was no one near to know, to see, to care?

But she felt too weak to fight against Endymion, and let herself slip away from the mirror until the glass turned into a cluster of tiny flames again.

"This is the Cave of Lost Souls," Endymion said again, and Serena had to strain to listen over the tumult in her mind. "It is where all souls begin life, and where they end up before they're allowed to pass to the afterlife. You see, each of the candles is a soul."

Serena started from her daze. "What?"

"Each of the candles is a soul," he repeated. "You can tell what kind of life one is living by looking at their candle."

Serena blinked and looked around again.

"The tall thin ones are for people who have led long lives, but dull ones. There isn't much to them. The short and thick ones are for people who died young, but that filled their years with excitement and beauty. The tiny ones are children who had no chance to live at all. The candles with white, unburned wicks are souls waiting to be born. The candles with burnt wicks, and no flame, are those that have already died."

"Do you know which one is yours?" she asked.

He squeezed her hand and pulled her back to the place where she'd first woken up. There was a large pedestal made of stone where more than a dozen candles stood—most of them tall and thick and burning, but not all.

"This one is me," said Endymion, pointing to one of the shortest candles, with a blackened wick.

It was also one of the thickest, the densest.

"I lived a full life," he said. "For I found true love in it."

Serena clamped a hand to her mouth to catch a sob.

"And these are all my family," he said, naming off the candles for his parents and his brothers and their wives. The men's candles all burned brightly, but the women's were all dull. Then he came to Raye, and Serena gasped.

"She died," he said. "She was the first that the sorcerer killed."

"No . . ."

"He is killing you all, one by one."

No sooner had he spoken these words than Queen Luna's candle flickered and died.

Serena gasped, but Endymion only flinched.

Serena pointed a trembling finger at the smallest burning candle on the table. "Cytherea?" she whispered.

Endymion nodded. "Not much longer now, I'm sure," he said, and Serena could see that the flame was weak, as if the slightest breeze could extinguish it.

He gestured to a candle beside Cytherea's, one that was burned out. "This was Lita. She was still alive when you arrived, but. . . . Ah, and here—" He placed his finger upon a spot of wax with a tiny white wick growing from it. "Amy and Zoicite's unborn child," he said. "It will never live at all if . . ."

He did not have to finish. Serena's eyes were swimming.

A candle on the second ledge of the podium suddenly flickered out. Endymion sucked in a quick breath.

"Who . . . ?"

He turned to her, all sympathy.

"Endymion?"

"Your mother."

Serena's gaze sunk, unseeing, and soon she sunk with it, collapsing to her knees as if her own life had been drained away in that moment.

"Do you want to see yours?" Endymion whispered, still holding her hand.

She shook her head.

"Come, Serena, look."

It took her a long moment and many steadying breaths but Serena finally forced her deadened stare to follow Endymion's finger.

Her own candle was the thickest of all, even thicker than Endymion's.

And very tall.

She blinked at it.

"I knew it was yours the moment I saw it," he said. "Because it's the most beautiful candle in the whole cave."

It was next to Endymion's, and the contrast in height made his short life seem like a cruel joke.

"And this one," he said, pointing to another candle beside her own, also tall, also thick, "this is Darien."

Her breath snagged. "Darien?"

"Yes. Your friend Melvin is here, too." He turned and pointed somewhere in the distance, but Serena's couldn't pull her gaze from Darien's candle with the bright flame.

"I've been watching you all," he said. "I used to see Melvin in the mirror and think it must be a mistake that he had one of the thickest candles in the room, thinking there was no way his life would ever be that interesting." He chuckled and shrugged. "But since you all came to Aysel I've begun to think differently about him."

Serena returned her gaze to her own candle. "Why is mine so tall?"

Reaching forward, Endymion stroked a finger along Serena's candle. "They're not always right. Fate can change, and sometimes a person with a very tall candle dies very young, or a person with a very short candle lives well into old age. It's rare, but it happens. Fate and destiny, they aren't written in stone. Or . . . wax. There are no guarantees."

"So my candle was wrong."

Endymion turned back to her. He said nothing for a long while, and then— "Not if I can help it."

Starting, she met his vivid blue eyes, and found a caressing smile beneath their sadness. And the same hard-headed determination he'd had in life.

"I'm not going to let you die here, Serena."

"But I'm already dead."

"I know. But look." He nearly touched his fingertip to Serena's blackened wick and she saw, or thought she saw, a hint of a spark there. A barely burning ember.

"And Darien's is so tall too, which is why I don't think he's going to die today either."

She stared up at him with an unspoken question, and he gently picked her off the floor and tied his arms around her waist. "You have to go back, Serena."

"No!"

He smiled sadly. "Yes."

"I can't. I won't leave you again. I won't let you be alone anymore!"

"You won't be. I'll leave the Cave too. Just . . . in a different direction."

Her lip began to tremble. Panic welled inside her chest. She gripped his arms, digging her fingers into them, but he did not flinch.

"But you've been waiting for me. And now I'm here. I can't . . . I won't just—"

"I _have_ been waiting for you. I've been waiting to be sure you were going to be okay. To be sure you would find happiness."

Tears were filling her eyes again. "No, Endymion . . . I'm not happy. I miss you. I-I love you."

His gaze widened briefly, and then softened. He leaned into her, his bangs feathering her brow. "Say that again."

"I love you, Endymion. With my whole heart. And I'm sorry I didn't realize it until it was too late. I'm sorry I tried to force you to marry Briar Rose. I'm—"

Endymion pulled her close and kissed her.

Serena melted against him, gripping his shoulders. The tears froze on her cheeks. She shivered, and he held her tighter.

The kiss had begun in a tower, in a dream, two years before. How very long she had held on to that kiss, waiting.

Serena sighed against Endymion's lips and a warm ember sparked to life in her chest.

Endymion slowly pulled away, but he did not dare to loosen his embrace.

"Maybe I lied," he said after a moment. "Maybe I've actually been waiting to hear those words."

Her eyes fluttered open, and she said, "I love you," because she found that every time she said it, a thorn was pulled out of her heart.

_Her heart._

She gasped and one hand flew to her chest where it felt a strong, steady heartbeat.

"Promise me," he whispered, pressing his hand over hers, "that this time you'll give it to somebody who deserves it."

For the first time she could see tears springing up in his own gaze. He kissed her again. Long and tender. An eternity was in his kiss. A lifetime.

When he pulled away, he said simply, "Goodbye, Serena."

And then, gently squeezing her fingers, he bent over and put his lips near the wick of Serena's candle and blew.

The small spark began to glow a little brighter.

"Endymion," she whispered, "I honestly did want to marry you."

The spark burst to life, the flame as steady as her pulse.

He turned back to her and smiled. "I never really doubted it."

And as the Cave of Lost Souls began to shimmer and blur into nothing but a haze of orange light, she heard his voice, clear and strong.

"And I love you too. I always have. I always will."

As darkness approached, stealing him away from her, she managed to form the most painful words she'd ever spoken.

"Endymion . . . goodbye."


	18. Elixir

To answer a few quick questions:

Yes, I cried when I wrote chapter 17, and I still get choked up every time I read it.

And lots of people mentioned the candles—I'm glad you liked them, but I can't take full credit. I got the idea from Grimm's story "Godfather Death" (one of the little known tales).

Thank you so much for all the reviews, and to KaitlynFall for betaing.

Ummmm, I think that's all for now. Enjoy!

Return to Aysel: Another Grimm Tale  
Alicia Blade

Chapter Eighteen: Elixir  
"_Hast thou forgotten how many Kings' sons have already come here in vain?"_  
from The Twelve Dancing Princesses

Darien hovered over Serena's body, hot tears spilling into her hair. The ball room reeked of blood and death. Another gasp of pain. Another subtle cry. Tristis's sister. Serena's mother. Amy. He did not know the rest.

He _did_ know that there was nothing he could do to stop it.

He did know that Serena was gone.

Diamond's cold laugh pulled Darien's gaze toward the dais, where the sorcerer was holding the final heart. There was only one girl left—the child. The toddler princess whose only crime was being born to a royal mother. He trembled to his core and felt something wither inside him as Diamond plunged the knife into the heart. The child's pained whimper broke Darien's heart and he slumped against Serena's coffin as if he, too, had had his heart torn out.

He had forgotten all his dreams of heroism. Forgotten that he had once believed he could save them. Now he knew better.

The blood dripped down Diamond's blade and into the chalice. The sorcerer licked his lips in anticipation, his silver eyes gleaming in the candlelight.

Sapphire had returned to watch over Emerald's body once he saw that Darien was in too much despair to fight him. He held Emerald—still fresh with the blush of life and breath—as Diamond set the final heart back in its box and lifted the goblet as if it was the most sacred of objects, walking around the massive oak table and down into the ballroom.

Sapphire gripped Emerald closer, eyeing the cup with distrust. "What is it?"

"Why—the blood of twelve royal hearts."

"But what will it do to her?"

Diamond grinned at his brother as one would a child who asked too many silly questions. "It will revive her," he said.

Sapphire's gaze darkened, and his knuckles whitened as he gripped Emerald's shoulders. "What _else_ will it do, Diamond?"

"Nothing harmful, I assure you. It is only the most powerful elixir imaginable . . . for my purposes, that is."

Sapphire was shaking. His brow drew into a livid glare. "No. I will not let you poison her. Not without proof—!"

"Proof of what?" Diamond's cheerful countenance quickly gave way to anger. "Proof that I will not murder her? Her? The girl that I have loved for so many years? Don't be absurd, Sapphire."

Sapphire's jaw fell. "Love?" he breathed. "But . . . but you were going to kill her!"

Diamond clicked his tongue. "Dear brother, when did you ever become so gullible? Of course I wasn't _really_ going to kill her. I just needed you to believe that I would."

Squeezing Emerald against his chest, Sapphire sent a horrified glance at Darien.

"And so you understand just how vital to my scheme you have been," said the sorcerer. "How much you are to blame . . . for everything."

"Why have you done all this . . . killed these girls? To what purpose?"

"Step aside," Diamond said, his oily smile returning, "and you shall see to what purpose."

Sapphire hesitated.

"Step aside. _Now. _Or you shall live out the rest of your days on a lily pad. And then what good will you be to her?"

Darien had watched the argument with growing disgust. Diamond had done all of this for a mere elixir—a mere potion. But what could it do? What power was contained in twelve royal hearts?

What power was contained in Serena's?

Sapphire set Emerald's body down on the tile floor and stepped away, allowing Diamond to approach with his chalice. But Sapphire drew the sword at his hip and angled the tip toward Diamond's chest, a fair warning that did not seem to bother the sorcerer at all as he sank to his knees beside the girl. He lifted her head with barely controlled impatience. His gaze drank her in, at once both affectionate and proud, joyful and determined.

"Wake up, my love," he murmured as he tipped the cup against her lips.

Darien recoiled as the girl was forced to drink the blood of the twelve murdered princesses. A bright red drop rolled down her chin and splattered on the front of her cotton dress. Diamond pulled the cup away and set it aside and watched the girl, transfixed.

One heartbeat. Two heartbeats. Three. Four.

Sapphire edged closer with his sword.

Emerald's eyelashes fluttered open.

Hatred writhed in Darien's chest. Serena, dead. All these innocent girls, dead. _All for this girl?_ _Why?_

He spotted his own sword not far away, dropped in his rush to Serena. He went to it, slowly, and lifted it off the floor.

Emerald was looking at Diamond with wide, confused eyes. He tentatively reached up and stroked the blood off her chin, still cradling her head and shoulders in his arm.

"Emerald?" he asked.

Sapphire took a small step toward her, holding his breath.

But Emerald could not take her eyes from the elder brother. "Diamond."

A smile flickered at the corners of Diamond's mouth but was quickly whisked away. "Who do you love, Emerald?"

She blinked, uncertainly. Her brow creased. "Love?"

Diamond gulped. "Who do you love?"

Sapphire looked hopelessly on as the love of his life raised her slim, pale fingers and traced a thumb along his brother's jaw.

"You, of course," she said.

Sapphire's eyes widened in disbelief.

"Me?" Diamond repeated, the hint of a smile returning.

"Yes, my love. I have always loved you."

"I believe you once loved my brother."

Her head listed, her eyelashes fluttering. "Your brother?"

"Sapphire."

"No. I never loved Sapphire. I have only ever loved you. As I always will."

And then the small smile broke into a victorious grin, just as Sapphire's blade found its way to Diamond's throat.

Emerald gasped and Diamond let her sink back to the floor, still smiling.

"What have you done to her?" Sapphire growled.

"Ah, I have revived her, dear brother." Diamond stood slowly and met his brother's gaze with triumph.

"You have bewitched her."

"I have claimed what should have been mine all along."

"Yours?" Sapphire said with a crude laugh. "You mean her heart? Her love? That she gave to me?"

Diamond snorted. "She should have been mine from the start. I saw her first, I knew her first, I loved her first. If you hadn't interfered, I would have married her years ago and none of this would have been necessary."

"Interfered? But I love her! And she loves me!"

"_Loved_ you. And now she loves me."

Sapphire shook his head. "If I had known . . ."

"Ah yes, if only you had known. Clearly, I could not have done this without your assistance. After all, the heart of the Guardian princess was the most potent of all."

Darien's stomach clenched.

Breath ragged, Sapphire forced himself to tear his gaze from his brother's hideous, haughty smirk and look at Emerald, who sat still as stone, watching their fight with mute detachment.

"Emerald?" he said, voice breaking on the name.

She only stared at him. No flush of the cheek. No brightening of the eye.

"So you see," Diamond whispered. "What is true love to a sorcerer?"

Sapphire shook his head, teeth grating with hatred and heartbreak, and pulled his sword back. "She is my life," he spat.

"As she is mine."

Sapphire lunged.

His target vanished in a puff of black smoke and Sapphire tumbled to the ground with a shocked cry. The sword skidded from his grasp, but he wasted no time in scurrying toward it. One hand snatched the handle. He pushed himself off the floor and turned just as Diamond reappeared.

"You coward!" said Sapphire.

"Killing me will not return her love to you," said Diamond. "Her affections are forever altered."

"Then I shall kill you for the sheer pleasure of it." Sapphire ran again, only to find thin air where the sorcerer had stood moments before. He did not fall this time, but spun around with fire in his eyes.

Diamond's laugh returned to the space first. "But think of the heartbreak you will be forcing upon your beloved, should you kill me," he said, materializing again mere feet from his brother.

"I will help her overcome it."

This time, when Sapphire pressed forward, the puff of black smoke did not leave empty air, but rather a gold-fleeced lion. The sword swung over the brute's head, skimming the tips of its full mane before Sapphire could grasp what had happened.

Then the lion snarled and pounced on Sapphire, tackling him to the ground and chomping its sharp jaws onto Sapphire's shoulder.

Sapphire cried out in pain, but the sound was muffled by a horrified scream.

The lion released Sapphire and glanced at Emerald. She had both hands clasped over her mouth, eyes wide with pain and terror. "No—Sapphire!" she cried, tears filling her gaze.

The lion faded, replaced with Diamond standing over his brother. Sapphire grunted and pressed his good hand over the bleeding shoulder.

"Emerald?" said Diamond.

"Don't hurt him," she cried. She crawled over to the brothers and settled her head upon Sapphire's stomach. "Don't kill him."

Diamond watched, mouth agape, as the girl's tears spilled out onto Sapphire's tunic. Then the sorcerer reached down and pulled Emerald to her feet, gripping her wrists in an iron hold.

"How?" he said, trying to read her teary gaze. When she had no other answer than a sob, he gave her a hard shake. "Who do you love?"

She gasped and tried to blink away the tears. "I-I don't—"

"Who do you love?" he repeated, all but yelling.

"I . . ."

"Answer me, Emerald!"

"I don't know! I love . . . I think I love . . ."

Diamond had heard enough. He released the girl and allowed her to sink to her knees beside his brother, then glanced over at the goblet of blood. "Why did it not work?" he muttered. "Must she drink all of it?"

"Or maybe true love is more powerful than your stupid potion."

Darien's heart stopped. The world tilted beneath him.

He spun around just in time to see Serena stumbling out of her glass coffin.

"Serena!"

She paused and glanced at him. She looked exhausted and weak and unsteady on her feet as she forced her legs to hold her. But upon catching his eye, her gaze was filled with such sparkling relief that Darien was floored by the beauty of her.

He ran to her, tying her up in a crushing embrace. She returned it with what strength she had.

"Thank you for coming for me," she whispered.

The embrace was brief before she pushed him away and turned to face the sorcerer. Darien gripped her hand, unwilling to let her go.

"You!" Diamond said. "Why aren't you dead?"

"I found a new heart. A stronger one."

Diamond snarled. "So this is why the elixir is failing. Your blood was no longer satisfactory." With a grunt, he bent over and snatched up Sapphire's sword. "No matter. I will steal your heart again. And this time—I will do it the old-fashioned way."

As the sorcerer sauntered toward them, Darien grabbed Serena by the shoulder and pulled her back, squaring himself before her.

Serena's Guardian powers had returned upon awakening. The spark of magic burned again in the pit of her stomach, a warm, comforting presence. The cloudlike fates of those around her appeared once more in her vision—but that power did not extend to Darien. While she could see the dark cloud hanging above the sorcerer, and those hazy gray above Sapphire and Emerald in the center of the ballroom, she could see nothing of Darien's fate. He was not from this world.

And yet . . . he had a candle that burned strong. That, she must rely on.

"Do you think I would hesitate to kill you on my path to her?" Diamond said through his teeth.

Darien's said nothing, but lifted the dwarf-made sword. He clenched the hilt with both hands, though his shoulders were shaking.

"You've failed," said Darien. "Your elixir didn't work. The girl doesn't love you."

The sorcerer's gaze darkened. "What do you know of love? Your precious Guardian may have returned, but it was not at your bidding. It was not from your kiss."

_Kiss? _Serena glanced at the back of Darien's head.

"I know that love can't be bought with innocent lives," said Darien.

Diamond smirked. "Yes, well . . . that still remains to be seen."

The sorcerer sprung forward. Darien barely blocked the blow with the blade of his sword. The air rang as steel struck steel. But Darien's movements were awkward in comparison to the sorcerer's, and he strained against their interlocked weapons.

Diamond laughed. "And I see you handle the weapon with such grace!" He swung his sword, disentangling the blades, and lunged. The tip of his blade caught Darien in the thigh.

Darien cried out and started to buckle, but caught himself on Serena's empty coffin. "Serena, run," he said through gritted teeth.

"Are you insane?" she shot back.

"Come now, you can do better than that," said Diamond.

Another clash of steel echoed off the marble walls. Diamond pulled back and Darien sprang forward, putting as much force as he could into the thrust. But just when he was sure he was going to pierce Diamond's gut, the sorcerer vanished.

Darien staggered and fell to one knee, only to find the tip of a sword pressed immediately to the back of his neck.

"Do not worry," Diamond murmured. "Your beloved will be right behind you."

A crash echoed above them, followed by a splitting roar.

Startled, Diamond stumbled back, taking the point of his sword away from his victim as he looked up.

The glass ceiling shattered.

Serena screamed and ducked beside her coffin, covering her head as shards rained down on the ballroom. The thunderous hail of glass was joined by another roar—a roar that shook the castle's very foundation, that thrummed to the depths of Serena's soul.

Gaping, she dared to look up.

A gigantic red-scaled dragon swooped down from the broken ceiling and landed amidst the glass-strewn marble floor. It flexed its veined wings and swung its head to get its bearings, then noticed the group by the coffins. It snorted—curls of black smoke billowing up from its nostrils.

Serena saw Sapphire put his arms around Emerald and pull her toward the wall, despite his gouged, bleeding shoulder.

She saw Diamond staring at the dragon with his mouth agape, his sword all but forgotten in one hand, his white cape torn to shreds by the storm of glass.

She saw Darien, equally disbelieving, but then, suddenly, grinning.

She looked at the dragon and saw—

Zoicite.

Her heart leaped.

The prince was perched securely upon the dragon's wide back, an arrow drawn and pointed at Diamond's heart.

The hope filling Serena quickly fled, replaced with panic. She dove out of the way just as Zoicite let the arrow fly.

It would have been a direct, fatal hit, if Diamond had not disappeared in a cloud of smoke. In which case, it would have surely caught Serena.

Zoicite's eyes widened in surprise.

"Behind you!" yelled Darien.

Zoicite turned, drawing another arrow. He was lightning quick, but the sorcerer was faster. And when next Diamond appeared, he was no longer the pale, white-haired man, but rather a dragon himself, every bit as huge and fierce as the red dragon, but with shimmering snow-white scales and ice-blue eyes. He lurched toward his new enemy, ignoring an arrow that struck his side, and clamped jagged talons onto the red dragon's shoulders, trying to knock off the rider. Zoicite, unwilling to be taken by surprise, jumped off the dragon before it could be sent into a mid-air spin. The prince rolled gracefully on the marble floor and was soon on his feet, drawing another bow in a single fluid movement, ignoring the splinters of glass that tore through his tunic.

"Serena, are you all right?"

Serena pried her gaze away from the battle to see Darien limping toward her. He had a gash on his head from the glass ceiling and his left pant leg was soaked through with blood. But he was alive.

She almost smiled, when an alarmed voice stole her relief away.

"Darien, take this!" They spun toward Zoicite, just as he threw a small black book at them. The prince didn't wait to find out if Darien caught it before he had another arrow knocked.

"What's that?"

"Melvin's spell book."

Serena blinked, but Darien anxiously shook his head at her. "Serena, we need to wake them up."

She glanced down at the row of coffins, all but one containing a lifeless body; not a single aura lingered over their hollow shells. "I-I don't know how." She looked at him again, taking in the drying blood, the medieval garb. "Any ideas?"

He was frowning, his eyes full of concentration as he stared down at the girl in the nearest coffin—a blonde elf girl that Serena only barely remembered from the night she'd been kidnapped. Then Darien turned toward the raised dais where twelve boxes were set out on a large table, along with a single massive book. "Maybe . . ."

The word had barely left him before Darien was grabbing her hand and they were both running up to the table, the roars and screeches of two dragons thrumming around them.

"Darien," she said between breaths, "where did you guys find a dragon?"

He seemed to hesitate, but as soon as they reached the platform he said, "I think that's Melvin."

"_Melvin_?" Serena froze. "How did he get turned into a _dragon_?"

"It's complicated," he said, stooping over the gigantic book. The page open before them was so covered in strange runes and symbols and tiny scripted notes that it took awhile for his eyes to adjust to it. Then he spotted a title, the inked lettering slightly bigger than the rest. "Love elixir. This is the spell he was using."

Serena was gaping at the giant red dragon, but forced herself to focus instead on the book.

Darien ran a finger along the book's text. "Drain the blood from twelve royal hearts into a silver chalice. Potion must be drunk while blood is fresh, or the elixir becomes a potent poison. . . . It doesn't say anything about getting their hearts in the first place."

Serena started flipping through the pages, scanning the titles. _Youth elixir, Spell for unspeakable beauty, Amnesia, Wealth, Dreamless sleep . . . _

"This is going to take forever," said Darien.

"But if it's in here—"

Darien nudged Serena out of the way and set Melvin's small black book aside. He grabbed up the covers of the huge book and stood it up on its spine. "If it's in here, then he probably had it open to that page a lot," he said, then let the covers fall back to the table and the pages open as they would. They both leaned over the page.

_Heart displacement._

"Darien, you're a genius."

A roar of pain drew their attention toward the ceiling. The white dragon had its massive jaws clamped onto the wings of the red dragon. Serena gasped. "Are you sure that's Melvin?"

Darien did not answer, speechless as the two dragons began to spin in their grappled embrace, falling fast to the hard floor.

Instinctively, Serena reached out and grabbed Darien's hand.

But just before the dragons hit, the red dragon vanished.

Serena cried out as Diamond smashed into the floor. The whole castle trembled from the shock.

"What happened? Where did he go?" Serena said, bordering on hysterical.

Darien frowned, both proud to see that Diamond was having a tough time getting back onto his taloned feet, and worried for his friend. Prince Zoicite wasted no time in drawing another arrow—though it looked like his stock was dwindling—and knocking it against the string. He didn't allow Diamond enough time to fully regain his senses before he sent the arrow flying. It hit the dragon square in one of its bejeweled eyes.

The dragon screeched and reared up on its hind legs, even as Zoicite pulled another arrow.

Darien suddenly squeezed Serena's hand. "Look!"

She looked, but saw nothing. "What?"

"A mouse."

Serena strained her eyes, though it took a long while to spot the small creature scurrying between the dragon's legs.

Darien laughed. "Smart move."

She looked at Darien from the corner of her eye. "Now you think Melvin's a _mouse_?"

"I'll explain later," he said, and returned his attention to the book. Serena hesitantly followed suit, her head spinning.

"Here," she said, pointing. "'Heart displacement is best used in the event of near-death. When done correctly, the heart can be safely removed from the injured body and protected until the body can receive treatment.' So it's supposed to be used to save people, not kill them."

"I don't think he cares how magic is _supposed_ to be used."

"But at least there's proof that there must be a way to return the hearts, otherwise the spell wouldn't make any sense to begin with."

Darien turned the page. "Storage of displaced hearts . . . transportation of displaced . . . Care of . . . here! Replacement procedure."

Serena scanned through the text, then blinked. "Well that sounds easy."

"Yeah, except one huge problem."

She looked at Darien, taking in his knitted brow. "What huge problem?"

"They _weren't_ well taken care of. They've been stabbed and drained of blood. How are we—"

An angry roar filled the ballroom—Zoicite had just made a straight shot into the dragon's soft underbelly. But rather than looking defeated, Diamond only looked livid.

Out of arrows, Zoicite turned from the monster and began darting through the ballroom, scooping up the nearest arrows and dropping them back into his quiver.

"Zoicite!"

The prince froze. He and Darien and Serena all glanced toward the voice, but saw nothing—until, suddenly, out of nowhere, there was Melvin, holding the shimmering invisibility cloak.

"Melvin!" Serena cried in both relief and terror, supporting herself on the edge of the table.

Melvin did not even look at it. "Use this," he said to the prince and tossed him the cloak. He wasted no time in throwing it over his head and shoulders.

The dragon snorted at the reappearance of Melvin, now as harmless as a human. He dropped onto his front arms and hunched down closer to the ground, eyeing Melvin with his one good eye.

Melvin gulped and pushed his glasses up on his nose.

"You know," he said, loud and clear, though with an unmistakable hint of nervousness, "it's pretty easy to turn yourself into a dragon. I think it was the easiest spell I've done yet."

Diamond snorted again and a few tendrils of dark smoke erupted from his nostrils.

"But a mouse—now that was something else altogether. In fact . . ." His voice squeaked. "In fact, it was really hard going from big to small like that. I know I'm just an amateur and all, but . . . well, I bet you couldn't do it half as well as I did."

Serena blinked. He was pulling the same trick as Puss in Boots!

And for a moment, Diamond hesitated. The sorcerer did not move, just glared at his rival with his white fangs showing.

But instead of transforming himself into a mouse to prove his skill, he curled his head forward and let loose an eruption of flame and smoke.

Serena screamed as Melvin was caught in the blaze. The fire seared the air, bringing sweat to her brow, though the dragon was on the other side of the ballroom. The smell of smoke and burnt flesh invaded her nostrils. She barely felt Darien's arms around her, clutching her against him as her knees gave way.

And then the flame was gone, and so was Melvin.

All that remained of her best friend was a scorch mark and a pile of smoking ashes.

* * *

_please review._


	19. The Golden Goose

Sorry this chapter took so long to get up (a whole week, how terrible!)--but it's a long one, so I hope it'll make up for it.

Thanks to KaitlynFall for betaing and to all reviewers!

Return to Aysel: Another Grimm Tale  
Alicia Blade

Chapter Nineteen: The Golden Goose  
_He went with his goose and all her train before the king's daughter,  
and she began to laugh quite loudly, and as if she would never stop.  
_from The Golden Goose

"Melvin!" Serena teetered on her feet, unable to look away from the pile of black ashes on the ballroom floor—the ashes that had been her best friend. Darien tucked her close to his chest, but she was dizzy with disbelief and barely knew that Darien was there at all.

Endymion had told her that Melvin would live a full and exciting life . . . but he had not told her how long it would be.

Hot tears stinging her eyes, she buried her face into Darien's shoulder.

Melvin. Dead. Gone.

_Melvin._ Her best friend since grade school. The school geek. The school gossip. How was it possible?

With his first enemy gone, Diamond, the white dragon, began circling the room, sniffing the air in search for Prince Zoicite, still invisible from the cloak.

But as soon as the sorcerer's scaly back was turned, the pile of dark ashes began to shift where Melvin had stood.

"Serena," Darien whispered.

The urgency of his tone forced her to look, just in time to see the ashes dragging themselves along the white marble. They swirled in a whirlwind, growing into a tiny tornado. Until—with a burst of golden fire—a creature emerged with a victorious screech.

Serena's jaw fell. She slumped against Darien, unable to believe the sight before her.

Melvin had turned himself into a phoenix.

The dragon turned to face his revived foe, who now shone with the light of a thousand torches.

Slack-jawed, Serena squeezed Darien's hand. "When did Melvin become so . . . so . . .

"Cool?"

She blinked and turned to look at Darien, still stunned.

Darien shrugged and forced himself to look down at the book of spells. "Come on, Serena, let's finish this."

She looked down and clapped her hands over her ears to ward away the sounds of the continuing battle, and tried her best to focus.

The spell book claimed that a healthy heart could be returned to its owner's body as easily as it had been removed. The spell was already in place, all one needed to do was settle the heart upon the person's chest and, magically, the two would merge. Or so the spell book said.

But that still left one very big problem.

They did not have eleven _healthy_ hearts. They had eleven shriveled hearts.

Serena stared down at the organs inside their wooden boxes—dark and withered, hardly shells of their former vibrant, thriving selves. Her brow ached from frowning, thinking, desperately trying to find a solution. The embers of magic that lived always in the pit of her stomach grew warmer; her Guardian power itching along her nerves and veins, seeking out a way to fix these hearts. To conjure up a happy ending.

"Where are their souls?" she asked.

Darien cast a sideways glance at her. "Their what?"

"Their souls. They were—they should be with the hearts."

Looking at Serena openly now, Darien reached forward and laid gentle fingers on her wrist. "Serena, are you okay?" His voice carried a tinge of panic, of fear.

She swatted him away. "Listen to me. When I followed Raye down here, I saw him take her and the elf girl, and their souls—their . . . _auras_—stayed with the hearts. We need to find them."

"What are you _talking_ about? Souls? Auras?"

Serena gasped and looked out over the sea of broken glass. "The chalice!"

Darien was too dazed to follow when she took off sprinting toward the silver cup. Overhead she could hear the wild cries of the phoenix and the dragon, but she did her best to ignore them, along with her fluttering pulse and the stinging heat of magic as it coursed through her veins.

Despite all her fear and all her worry, Serena felt a smile prick at her mouth. She was a Guardian again. And she knew what she had to do.

She grabbed the chalice and spun without pause, sprinting back to the dais. Darien watched her return to the platform, the cup gripped in both hands. A few droplets of blood had dried on the rim.

"Okay, now what?" said Darien, eyeing the cup.

Serena held her breath as she set the chalice down on the table and peered inside.

There, languishing at the bottom of the crimson elixir, was a cluster of tiny, pure-black auras. "Bingo."

She knew Darien was watching her, speculating on her sanity, but she ignored him as she dipped one finger into the cup of blood. Thick, and still warm.

"Serena . . . ?"

Withdrawing her hand, she found one small aura clinging to her fingertip, trembling.

Fire bubbled up from her womb, scorching her nerves on its path to the aura. Serena gasped and tried to cry out, but the sound clogged her throat.

_She was a little girl, cowering before the hunter's jagged knife. . . . She ran and ran until she collapsed, the merciless woods dark and crowding in on her. . . . The apple's tart juice dribbled down her chin, while the elf Guardian looked on, grinning. . . . _

_­_"Serena!"

She stirred, heart thudding painfully in her chest, and found herself in Darien's arms. Her body felt stiff and heavy as stone.

"What happened?" he cried, eyes flashing.

She wet her lips, grateful that the overpowering emotions were subsiding along with the torrent of magic. "That one was Raye's," she said weakly.

Darien shook his head. "What one? Serena, what did you—"

A flutter on the table caught Serena's eye. She managed to turn her head and watched as the small aura—slowly morphing from black to charcoal to silver-gray—slinked along the oak surface. Its progress got faster as it strengthened and brightened, until it reached its heart, Raye's heart, and crawled up into it. There was a flash of white light as the wound healed, and Darien's gasp confirmed that he saw it too.

When the light faded, a steadily beating heart and a small pale aura, not yet white, lingered in the box.

"How did you do that?" Darien murmured.

Strength returning to her limbs, Serena pulled herself from Darien's hold and reached for the chalice.

Darien snatched it away from her. "You're going to do that again?"

A nonchalant laugh escaped her. "It worked, didn't it?"

"You blacked out!"

Still smiling, she reached for the cup again and folded her fingers around Darien's grip. "Don't worry, Darien. This is what I'm here for." He allowed the cup to be pried away, but his features were still etched with worry. "Why don't you go give Raye her heart back?"

He took in a shaky breath and looked down at the beating heart. She could see a dozen questions in his eyes, but in the end he chose not to ask any of them.

Darien grabbed the heart and hurried toward the coffins.

A piercing cry rang through the air. Darien ducked down beside Raye's coffin.

Serena looked up. The dragon and the phoenix were grappling mid-air, claws and talons digging into flesh, wings flapping desperately as each tried to gain an upper hand on the other. The phoenix dug its sharp golden beak into the membrane of one of the dragon's wings, snapping a fragile bone. The dragon roared in pain and clenched his jaws around the phoenix's neck, drawing gold-tinted blood.

Darien's voice pulled Serena's attention away from the fight. He'd managed to get the glass lid off of Raye's coffin and had set the heart down upon her chest. "So what?" he yelled up to Serena. "It's just supposed to—"

The heart vanished, sinking down through her flesh as if it were quicksand, leaving no mark even upon her beautiful gown.

Two heartbeats later, Raye sucked in a breath and opened her violet eyes.

Serena let out a cry of relief, grasping the table for support, while Darien helped the weary queen sit up. Raye looked at Darien and then around the room, taking in the other sleeping women and Serena on the dais and the waging battle. Her eyes were filled with bewilderment.

Propelled by success, Serena dipped her finger into the elixir and fished out another aura from the chalice.

_The night was cold, but she was bundled in warmth, wrapped up in blankets and her mother's arms as they fled through the fields, beneath the silver moon, away from the wall of thorns . . ._

Serena was still standing, but barely, both hands gripping the edge of the table until her fingers ached. She watched as the glowing aura slipped back into the small heart.

"Cytherea," she murmured when Darien was at her side. "The child."

Without hesitating, he grabbed the heart and ran to the toddler princess. He had the glass lid overturned with little struggling. Soon he had two big blue eyes staring up at him.

"You're all right," he said, smiling with relief—because it was true—and patting her head of golden curls.

She only blinked at him, then glanced toward the sounds of battle from the dragon and the phoenix.

Cytherea screamed.

Raye was at the girl's side in an instant, pulling her out of the coffin with a determination that was surprising for a girl recently returned from the dead.

"Darien!"

He rushed back to Serena, brushing damp bangs back from his forehead. It felt that the temperature in the ballroom had gone up twenty degrees—whether from his rushing back and forth or from the occasional scorching dragon flames, he wasn't sure.

"This one belongs to one of the elves," Serena gasped, pushing a box toward him with a beating heart. Her face was flushed; her entire body was shaking. "But I don't know which one."

Chewing the inside of his cheek, Darien nervously stroked a curl behind Serena's ear. She looked so weak, so exhausted— "Maybe you should rest for a minute."

"No time." She pushed the box toward him. "The elves."

"Did it seem like a happy heart or a sad heart?"

Serena blinked up at him. "Sad—miserable." She hesitated, her gaze traveling to the golden phoenix as it punctured one of the dragon's wings with a talon. "Although she did have a memory of Melvin that didn't seem quite so . . ."

"Tristis." Darien snatched up the box.

Serena watched him go, willing her hands to stop shaking.

"Lady Guardian?" said a weak voice behind her.

She spun and saw a familiar man and woman standing off the side of the platform. Sapphire, the man who had not been Endymion, had one bloodied arm draped over the shoulder of a green-haired girl—Serena recognized her instantly but was too tired to be surprised.

"What can we do?" said Emerald.

Serena looked at Sapphire's shoulder. It had been haphazardly wrapped with shreds of Emerald's skirt, and she did not know if he would have the strength to lift heavy glass lids.

"Help Darien, if you can," she said. "And help the girls. I'm sure they're very confused right now."

When they nodded in comprehension, she turned back to the row of hearts. She reached for the next aura at the base of the chalice. Blood dripped down her wrist as she held it up.

_Her knees and back ached, as they always ached. Her hands were calloused and stained with dirt and cinders. And always her stepmother's shrill screams. . . . But at the ball, she felt like a princess, and when the prince came to her, his eyes were filled with starlight._

"Lita. The brunette, the tall one." She pushed the box toward whomever was there to receive it.

_Her prince appeared at the tower window, one hand still wrapped up in her hair. She yearned to rush into his arms, but propriety and a hint of fear restrained her. . . . Her scream echoed off the walls, but the witch barred her way, would not let her jump after her prince. Then the witch came at her with a knife, but she was too heartbroken to be afraid._

"Amy."

_She peered through the curtains, into her father's throne room, able to catch glimpses of the handsome stranger kneeling humbly before the king, a wool hat gripped in strong, work-worn hands. "A hunter from Cashlin," one of the servants whispered. "They say he saved the princess's life."_

"Briar Rose. With the green hair."

_The shrill laughter of her sisters reached her over the noise of the pub, but she would not withdraw her claim. Not with the prince's intense gaze upon her. . . . Her mother's necklace, gone. Her mother's ring, gone. And still the little man leered up at her. "Your first born, then. Promise me your first born."_

"Mina. The blonde," Serena barely whispered, feeling, rather than seeing, Darien at her side. The magic was flowing through her constantly now, a crackling energy refusing to subside. Her body was naturalizing itself to the magic's current, becoming used to its new role of conduit, but it was exhausting. The power both buoyed her up with its raging flow, and threatened to overwhelm her.

"Serena." Darien's voice came to her as if very far away, but the pressure of his cool fingers on her flaming cheek was a comfort, and she turned her face into his touch.

"Mina," she said. "Go. I'm fine."

Another dip into the chalice. Another soul clinging desperately to her touch.

* * *

Raye had taken it upon herself to organize the princesses' escape. Lita, Amy, Briar Rose, Mina—one by one the princesses awoke, dazed, but vibrant. Cytherea ran into her mother's arms, sobbing from terror, and Raye used the moment to pull Lita aside and explain that they had to reach the lake and get to the stairwell as quickly as possible.

"Did you see that arrow?"

Raye glanced at a wide-eyed and rounded Amy, who was staring up at the battling beasts. "Arrow?"

"Yes . . . look, there's another one! Where are they coming from? Only . . . only Zoicite . . ." As worry etched itself onto Amy's features, Raye grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her toward the massive doors that led out of the castle. They skirted along the walls to avoid detection—but if Diamond noticed their escape, he paid no heed.

Raye paused at the curtained doorway, ushering on her companions. Lita helped Amy down the stairs. Mina was not far behind, carrying Cytherea, and Briar Rose just behind them. Together they darted out of the castle and down to the lake shore to begin the hurried task of rowing themselves to safety. In the boat, Raye and Lita took up the oars first. It was a slow, laborious process—their limbs weak from sleep and death. And all the while, the noises of the battle waged on, echoing up from the castle and off the cave walls, furious and loud even as they rowed farther and farther away.

* * *

"Queen Luna, and the other elf girl," Serena said, holding the hearts out to Sapphire and Emerald before they could even ascend to the platform.

She paused and saw Darien hurrying back to her, and though she could not keep her hands from trembling, she had finally gained enough control over the magic that she could risk a proud smile at him. He caught the look and seemed momentarily off-guard, before grinning back.

Serena dipped her finger into the cooling blood.

"_On her sixteenth birthday, the child will prick her finger on a spindle and fall down dead!" Her legs weakened at the witch's curse. She fell, did not notice the strong arms there to catch her. She had eyes only for the red-haired witch standing over her daughter's cradle. . . . Her husband draped the cloak around her. She could not see him through the tears, but she could feel his beard brushing against her jaw when he kissed her. "Sixteen years is not so very long," he murmured. "And I will wait for you."_

The aura dropped from her finger, shedding its darkness, its tragedies, as it crawled toward her mother's heart.

Her cheeks were wet, but she didn't notice until Darien was brushing the tears away. "Mom's."

"Only one more, Sere."

She nodded, with gratitude, but Darien had already taken her mother's heart and headed toward the coffins. She watched, trembling, as Darien lifted the glass lid and let the heart sink back in. She waited for her mother's eyes to open before releasing the painful breath trapped in her lungs.

A cry of joy escaped her. Though she could not hear his words, she saw Darien gesture toward her, and then her mother's stunned eyes were looking at her. A smile stole across Serena's mouth. Her nerves thrummed with relief. She yearned to rush to her mom, to throw her arms around her neck, to cry into her shoulder.

But she knew that she must be the Guardian before she could be a daughter.

An intense yellow light filled the room, followed by a radiant burst of heat and the sound of hot, crackling fire. Nearly knocked over by the heat wave, Serena looked up toward the fight.

The phoenix was on the ground, fire and black smoke rolling off its feathers.

An arrow shot out from nowhere and struck the dragon's throat, cutting off the seething flame. The dragon choked and fell, landing with a sickening thud on the marble. It swiped one massive claw at the arrow, breaking the wooden shaft but leaving the sharp head lodged in its neck.

Panting for breath, the phoenix pulled itself to full height and spread its singed wings. It sprung into the air, circled the dragon once, and dove, burying its talons into the dragon's armored back. It jabbed at the dragon's white shoulder with its pointed beak.

The dragon rolled, knocking the phoenix away. He swiped at the phoenix's belly with a claw, but missed.

Another arrow hit the dragon's exposed chest and it roared—a livid, frustrated sound. The dragon spread its wings and soared into the air again, though its flying looked uneven, each wing flap a struggle.

The phoenix, bedraggled as it was, darted after him; trying to defend itself from the ground would put it at too much of a disadvantage.

Serena pulled her eyes away from the beasts, knowing there was nothing she could do to help Melvin, and bitter at the fact.

But she did have the power to save these girls, and there was only one left.

She pulled the chalice toward her, inhaled a deep breath, and dipped her finger inside.

But when she pulled it out, it was empty, but for the blood dried beneath her fingernail. There were no auras left.

Frowning, she looked down into the crimson liquid. No shadows of souls lingered at the bottom. Her Guardian power was already creeping back toward her gut, coiling up around her spine to watch, and wait.

She looked at the twelve boxes lined up on the table. Eleven, empty.

But one heart still remained.

Blinking sweat from her eyes, she looked out at the coffins and could clearly see one form still motionless in her glass case.

The mermaid. The mermaid princess who had no soul and no aura with which to awaken her.

Serena moaned. Her legs finally gave way and she sank down to the floor. With her fingers still gripping the table ledge, she buried her face into the crook of an elbow, blocking out the light. Wishing she could block out the sounds of battle that resounded off the marble walls.

All her successes culminated into this one hopeless failure.

She was the Guardian of Happy Endings. Her dominion was fate. Destiny. _Endings. _How could she possibly help a girl who had no hope for any of these things?

Hands were on her shoulders, frantic but gentle. "Serena, what's wrong? What happened?"

She released the table and sunk into Darien's arms. "I can't help her."

"The mermaid?"

"She doesn't have an aura. There-there's nothing I can do." She cupped her face with both hands, straining to focus, to _think._ "Without an aura to work with, I don't know how to fix a broken—"

She jolted.

She could feel Darien's heart thudding through his tunic. She could feel her own heart racing. Without looking at the mermaid's heart in its wooden box, she could picture the knife-wound, and could imagine exactly how it had felt when the blade had pierced flesh. Could _remember_ exactly how it felt.

To be broken-hearted.

Slowly, she pulled herself from Darien's supportive arms and looked up at him. Upon seeing her expression, he drew back suspiciously. "What?"

Serena did not answer. Her mouth had gone dry, as the vision of Sirenetta and Darien kissing on the shore of Cerulean Lake returned unbidden to her thoughts. The memory made her stomach churn.

Her idea made her stomach churn even worse. She had to look away from him, for fear her own heart would not allow her to say the words.

"You . . . you might be able to save her."

At first he was silent, until she ashamedly met his gaze again.

Brow furrowed, he ventured, "Just tell me what to do."

"I don't know if this will work," she said, struggling to her feet.

She took the box in both hands. Every step toward the mermaid released a little more dread into Serena's limbs, until the heart felt like a cinderblock in her grip.

Darien removed the coffin's lid without prompting.

Sirenetta was unclothed, having been pulled naked from the lake's waters. Though all warmth had drained from her complexion, her skin still shimmered pearlescent in the candlelight. Her long hair was threaded onyx against her pale shoulders. She was still stunning.

Envy simmered beneath Serena's skin, but she pretended it wasn't there as she took the heart and set it upon the mermaid's chest. It sunk down through her skin as easily as it had come out. Serena held her breath, briefly entertaining the hope that perhaps that would be enough. That perhaps the girl's eyes would open even _with_ a broken heart.

But they did not.

"Now what?"

She looked across the coffin at Darien. He was leaning with his palms on the carved wooden base, curious, and a little worried.

She attempted speech twice before it came.

"Now you kiss her."

Darien straightened. "What?"

Without having seen the sorcerer dance with the mermaid princess, Serena could have guaranteed that he had impersonated Darien before he took her heart. She could have guaranteed that meeting Darien had been Sirenetta's undoing that night. But she could not to tell him that.

"She was clearly fond of you," she said. "And I think there's a chance that . . . I mean, so many fairy tales end in kisses, right? So maybe we can fix her heart by . . . by . . ." She trailed off, realizing that Darien no longer looked merely surprised. Now he looked appalled.

"Isn't that like _faking_ a happily ever after?"

Yes. Yes it was.

She clenched her fists, digging her nails into her palm until the pain registered. "She doesn't have a _soul, _Darien. What kind of happy ending is she going to have if she just becomes . . . nothing?"

"But what if—I mean, I don't even—"

"We're just trying to wake her up. I'm not asking you to marry her, or bind with her, or anything."

He blinked. _Binding_ was not a term he was familiar with.

"I just want to wake her up," Serena repeated, "so I can find a way to bring her a happy ending. Besides, she did save your life at the lake. You kind of owe her, right?" She thought about adding, _And you didn't seem to mind kissing her the first time,_ but bit the words back.

Darien inhaled once, very slowly. "Fine," he grumbled, and knelt down beside the coffin. "But it didn't work last time I tried it."

Serena's heart skipped, a blush blooming on her already warm face. She couldn't help but wonder, if she had had her heart when Darien had tried to awaken her before, would he have succeeded?

But Darien did not look up to acknowledge the flustered, near-apologetic look directed at him.

Without ceremony, he craned his head toward the mermaid. Though his jaw was set and his face expressionless, Serena had to look away when their lips touched. To distract herself, she mentally forced her fists open, stretching out her fingers, and found that they ached from the clenching.

"There."

Feigning indifference, she licked her lips and looked again at the mermaid.

It took only a moment, in which part of Serena felt awful for almost wishing it would not work, before Sirenetta opened her eyes.

The inky black pools focused on Darien. She stared, transfixed, as she drew in her first deep breath, and then the gaze softened. Her thick lashes flittered and a hint of a smile appeared on her pale lips.

Darien gulped, and his voice came out a struggle. "You're going to be all right."

She said nothing, but raised her pale arm up and cupped his cheek with one hand. Serena watched as the skin of her forearm shifted from pale pink to mint green in the flickering light.

Darien awkwardly pet her hand, then stood and pulled his ragged tunic over his head, draping it across the mermaid's body.

"Can you stand?" he asked without looking at her.

Sirenetta clutched at the material with some surprise, and then her gaze shifted to Serena, wide-eyed and mute. Serena could feel guilt writhing in the pit of her stomach. Trying to smile at the girl, she prayed that they had not just healed her heart, only to break it again. "Here, I'll help you," she said.

Though the mermaid stiffened when Serena bent down and slipped an arm beneath her shoulders, she did allow herself to be eased out of the coffin. She flinched when her feet touched the cold marble and collapsed almost completely into Serena's hold. As if ashamed of her weakness, she yanked herself away and stood awkwardly on her human legs, tying the tunic tight around her body. Big black eyes darted around the ballroom in fear and confusion, landing on Darien with every other blink.

"Is that the magician?"

Glad for a distraction, Serena looked at the elder elf princess. She and her sister were holding hands, looking like twins but for their different colored eyes.

"Yes," Darien answered. "The phoenix."

Tristis began to nod, but the gesture was cut short by a lurching of the marble floor beneath her.

Serena stumbled too, but the jolt of the earth quickly ceased, replaced instead with a subtle trembling. Gasping, Serena looked down at her feet, at the shards of glass clinking and clattering against each other. Then she looked up to see the gigantic chandeliers swinging in a nonexistent wind.

"What's now?" Darien asked.

As the rumbling grew louder, Serena looked at Diamond. The gigantic white dragon who had seemed invincible before, now appeared tired and fragile. His massive chest was heaving as he struggled for breath. One eye was closed forever and seeping crimson blood that dripped down his silvery scales. Though he continued to fight with every ounce of strength, Serena could see that he was dying.

"His magic is failing," she said. She could feel Darien looking at her, feel his unspoken question. "Remember what the mer—what Sirenetta said? This castle is made of his magic. If it fails . . ." She could not finish. She looked anxiously toward the castle's massive doors as Raye and Lita appeared at the top of the steps, their skirts drenched from wading to the boat on the first trip across the lake and back.

"Serena?"

Serena turned, her gaze falling on her mother's nervous face. The sight of her, alive and healthy, stole Serena's breath.

"Oh, Serena." She pulled Serena into an embrace, instant tears springing to both their eyes.

"Mom," Serena said, nearly choking on the word. "You have to get out of here. Get everyone down to the boat, quickly."

"Serena, what are you . . . you can't—"

Queen Luna grasped her mother's arm. "Don't argue with her, Serenity."

"No, come with me."

Serena shook her head, her eyes shifting from the dragon to the swinging chandeliers. "The boat can't take us all. You have to go now so they can come back for the rest of us. Hurry!"

"Serena—"

"There isn't time to discuss this." She all but pushed her mother into Luna's arms and turned away, doubting her ability to avoid reaching out for another hug. Soon she heard the two queens and the younger elf rushing toward the staircase.

"Emerald too," said Sapphire.

Serena glanced at him and nodded. "Yes. Both of you, to the beach. Try to fit as many into the boat as possible." She spotted the other elf girl, Tristis, loitering not far off, and yelled to her. "You too, go!"

Tristis shook her head and continued to watch the dragon. "I will wait," she said. "Let the others go first."

Serena clenched her jaw. Her whole body was trembling, both from terror and from the roiling castle beneath her feet, but then she recalled the girl's memories from when she had held her fate in her hand. She remembered the feeling of surprise and admiration when the girl had spoken with Melvin, and Serena found she could not argue with her.

She doubted the small rowboat would be able to take all the passengers waiting for it, anyway.

And so she sucked in a deep breath and turned back to the battle, just in time to see the two beasts crash to the ground; the marble cracked beneath their weight. The dragon's talons punctured the phoenix's wings, nailing him to the floor. The phoenix shrieked in pain, an agonizing, horrible sound that raised the hairs on Serena's neck.

The dragon reared its head back and let out a victorious roar, rows of teeth gleaming.

Then, from out of nowhere, a single arrow flew toward the dragon and punctured him square in the heart.

The roar died away. The dragon struggled with his next breath, even as he turned his livid crystalline gaze toward the empty spot where the arrow had come from. Diamond snorted—smoke billowed up. He pulled his claws out of the floor and the phoenix's wings, and the fire bird faded away, leaving only Melvin, beaten and exhausted, lying in a pool of blood.

A hairline fracture opened up at the base of the ballroom wall and began to weave its way up the veining of the marble and toward the shattered dome.

* * *

Gasping for breath, Melvin gaped up at the dragon that towered over him. Despite the evidence that life was quickly draining from the sorcerer, dripping out of the wound in his heart, Diamond almost seemed to chortle at Melvin's equal defeat.

Black smoke curled up from his nostrils, warning of the flame that grew in his gut. He was crouched down on his claws so that Melvin could almost touch his unprotected belly. Though a half dozen arrows jutted from the dragon's scales, though his breathing was ragged and his skin and wings covered with blood, though he had one eye blinded from an arrow and caked shut—Diamond was still standing. And still prepared to breathe fire in order to destroy Melvin, even if it would be the last breath he took.

The acrid smell of smoke filled Melvin's nostrils. Every limb ached. Even breathing hurt. And his clothes were damp and sticking to his skin—soaked through with his blood and sweat.

Blindly searched the floor around him, he grasped a shard of broken glass. The jagged edges tore into his palms but he ignored the pain and thrust the glass up at his enemy—but even attacking the dragon's vulnerable underside seemed to have no effect. Diamond chuckled—a deep, rumbling laugh that matched the rumbling of the castle, and he reared his head back.

Melvin sucked in a deep breath, squeezed shut his eyes, and covered his face with his arms, an instinctive, hopeless attempt to protect himself.

He felt something soft caught in his matted hair.

The dragon opened his huge mouth. Smoke streamed from his nostrils.

Heart pounding, Melvin pulled the mystery object out of his hair and looked through his steamed glasses at a single golden feather—a remnant from the phoenix spell.

He blinked the sweat from his eyes. He licked at the salt on his lips. Looking up, he could see embers glowing in the back of Diamond's throat and a row of razor teeth, grinning. The dragon's breath was hot on his skin. Saliva dripping from the dragon's mouth turned to steam above him.

Melvin gulped and squeezed the feather in his fist, crushing it in his grip, and thrust it up at the dragon's underside. He plastered it to the dragon's stomach just as the fire billowed up from its tongue.

A quick burst of flame. A plume of smoke.

A girl screamed. Serena? Or was it Tristis?

The smoke dissipated, fading into the air.

Melvin struggled to breathe. Unable to move, he lay prone on the ground. His hair singed. Scorch marks on his clothes. Every breath choked him, burned his throat and lungs as he gulped in the air.

And yet—he was breathing.

And beside him sat a small, fat, golden goose.

The castle groaned. The fracture that had climbed up the wall began to split and diverge and grow. Rivulets of dust and rock began sprinkling down from the ceiling.

Melvin coughed. Blood and spittle erupted from his mouth; he swiped at it with the back of a trembling hand, and slowly managed to sit up. He took off his condensation-slicked glasses, wiped them on the front of his bloody tunic and settled them back onto his face, staring in amazement at the goose.

The goose returned the look with beady silver eyes. It honked in irritation and pecked at its own ruffled feathers.

Melvin's stunned respite was interrupted by the sound of laughter. Trembling, nervous, uncontrollable laughter.

He turned toward the now-empty coffins and spotted Princess Tristis on her knees, hunched over, clutching her stomach.

Laughing.

And crying.

And crying, and laughing. Whether from shock or relief or joy or years and years of silence . . . she laughed, and could not stop.

The goose honked and jabbed at Melvin's ankle with its long beak. Melvin flinched back and kicked at the bird, too exhausted to do much else.

Zoicite appeared out of thin air and dropped the invisibility cloak to the floor. His bow was in one hand, and his last arrow in the other.

"Will he be able to turn back?" he asked, sounding every bit as tired as Melvin felt.

"Yes," Melvin said. "To undo a goose spell you need to feed it a bowl of warm milk and—"

Before he could finish, Zoicite had cocked the arrow, pulled back the string, and shot.

In death, the goose disappeared in another cloud of smoke, replaced with a white-haired sorcerer. He was covered in as much blood as Melvin. But he was not breathing.

Melvin slumped over, every last ounce of strength draining away at seeing his foe, dead, before him.

Silence fell. Stillness. A breath of peace.

Then a chunk of stone broke free of the ceiling and crashed to the floor. The castle vibrated with the shock. Soon, a deafening roar of rock and glass and metal, creaking and rubbing, splintering and collapsing, filled the ballroom.

* * *

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	20. Foam Upon the Water

My goodness, I can't believe we're almost to the end! I'm so glad you've stuck with me for so long. Two more chapters to go . . .

A GAZILLION thanks to KaitlynFall for betaing and editing!

Enjoy!

Return to Aysel: Another Grimm Tale  
Alicia Blade

Chapter 20: Foam Upon the Water  
"_Before the sun rises you must plunge this knife into the heart of the prince;  
when the warm blood falls upon your feet they will grow together again."_  
from The Little Mermaid

Heart in her throat, Serena peeled her eyes off of Melvin and the dead sorcerer and glanced around the room. Huge chunks of ceiling clattered to the ground. The marble floor rocked and churned beneath her feet. "We have to get out of here," she said, to anyone who was near enough to hear her. "The whole castle is going to collapse."

She turned toward Darien, but he was running out to the middle of the ballroom, toward Melvin. And so her eyes fell on the elf instead, still kneeling on the floor with her breathing ragged and tears drying on her flushed cheeks.

"Come on," said Serena, offering her hand.

Tristis looked at the hand for a moment, then took it. Serena pulled her to her feet and together they rushed after Darien. He and Zoicite lifted Melvin off the ground, supporting his limp body between them, and dragged him out of the castle as dust and stone tumbled behind them.

Serena darted ahead and found Raye and Sapphire pulling the rowboat back onto the shore, readying it for its third trek across the water. With a sinking heart, Serena noticed that even the world outside the castle walls was shaking. The sand heaving. The waters churning and frothing, stirred by an invisible storm. Wide-eyed, she looked back at the glowing castle, and then up and up and up, to the ceiling of the huge cavern that sheltered them from the world above, and heard the unmistakable sound of stone breaking miles above her head.

"Everyone in the boat!" Zoicite yelled, as he and Darien helped Melvin over the stern.

Melvin settled weakly onto the nearest bench. Tristis clambered in after him and he collapsed against her with a groan, ignorant of her small hands as they desperately tried to bind his wounds with strips torn from her linen skirt.

Zoicite, Sapphire, and Raye all followed, Zoicite grabbing up both oars without pause. Serena eyed the boat, knowing it would be a tight squeeze with all of them, but also knowing it was the only way they had a chance of escape.

And then she felt Darien's strong hands on her waist, lifting her unceremoniously over the boat's sides. Raye grabbed her and she landed on the bottom of the boat, before the vessel rocked dangerously as Darien lifted himself in beside her.

They shoved off.

"Wait!"

Serena looked at Darien. His eyes were wide as he stared up toward the castle.

"Darien, what—?"

"The mermaid." He looked at Raye. "Did you take the mermaid already?"

She stared back, open-mouthed.

"She had black hair, like yours. And skin like . . . like pearls."

Raye slowly shook her head. "I remember seeing her, in the ballroom, but she hasn't come to the shore. We didn't take her across."

"Maybe she came to the lake," said Zoicite, "and turned mermaid again, and went home."

Satisfied with his reasoning, Zoicite tightened his grip on the oars and began rowing. But he had not gone two strokes before the boat was rocking dangerously again as Darien lurched over the edge and plunged into the waist-high water.

"Darien!" Serena gripped the edge, watching as he waded back to shore, the rough tide threatening to engulf him.

Without thinking, she followed, standing up in the boat and jumping into the lake. She came up spluttering and swimming at the same time, and before she could realize what she'd done, she was on land, on her hands and knees, pushing herself to her feet, and running.

She heard her name from behind her and paused at the base of the stairs. She looked back at the boat, at the terrified faces, and then pushed at the air as if she could blow them home with her wave. "Go on without us!"

"Leave the mermaid," said Raye, standing precariously on the boat's shallow floor, her eyes full of pleading.

But Serena shook her head.

She was the Guardian again. To everyone in Aysel—the merfolk too. She was almost ashamed that Darien had had courage when it had failed her.

"Go," she said again. "We'll be right behind you."

Everyone knew it was a lie, but before her companions could argue, she had rushed up the stairs, to the chorus of roiling waves and crumbling walls and wooden oars slapping against the waves.

* * *

Darien spotted her the moment he burst into the ballroom. Sirenetta was on the dais where Diamond had once stood as he bled her heart and killed them all. Wrapped in Darien's tunic, she was looking down at the table, at the sorcerer's spell book.

"Sirenetta!"

She looked up at him. Her eyes widened.

"Sirenetta, come on. The whole cave is collapsing."

Even from the distance, he could see her lashes flutter, and even detected—he thought, with some curiosity—a hint of a smile.

She stepped away from the table, toward the edge of the platform, eyes still on him.

He let out a breath of relief.

But then she froze. Her gaze flickered to something else, behind Darien, and turned angry.

Darien spun around, almost expecting to see the ghost of Diamond rising up behind him, but it was only Serena breaching the top of the staircase. She was dripping wet and panting, and seeing her exhaustion made him feel suddenly very tired himself.

Serena looked at him, and then at the mermaid princess.

Darien turned again. "Sirenetta, please."

But she was not budging this time. The imagined smile was gone, replaced with pressed lips and tense shoulders. Wondering if she was paralyzed with fear, he ran to her, dodging the fallen rocks, skidding on the shattered glass. Her gaze flickered to him again, softening slightly, until he reached the dais and grabbed her wrist.

"We have to go," he said. "Now."

But when he tried to drag her, she dug her heels into the platform and gripped the edge of the table. He spun to her, his patience dissolving. "What's _wrong_ with you?"

She grabbed something off the table and held it up to him. Melvin's black book. He'd forgotten all about it.

He blinked. Shook his head. "Right, fine. Bring it."

She shook her head back at him and wrenched her arm from his grip. She flipped through the pages and then held the open book up to him, displaying a sketch of a mermaid.

"I know," he said—although he didn't think he knew, not really. "We'll find a way to turn you back into a mermaid. Now come _on._" He grabbed her by the elbow and this time did not allow her to resist as he yanked her off the dais and across the littered marble floor, dodging chunks of ceiling as they fell, ignoring the mermaid as she waved the book before his face.

"Is she all right?" Serena said when they reached her.

Darien had no answer as they both hurtled down the stairs with Sirenetta in tow. But when Darien burst through the massive double doors leading down to the shore, he froze, nearly throwing himself down the stone steps from his own momentum. He heard Serena cry out in surprise, and numbly felt Sirenetta rip her arm from his grip, as the three of them stood on the castle's stairs and gaped down at the surging water.

There was no more shore. The lake now came all the way to the castle stairs, the last stone steps disappearing into its murky depths.

Heart thudding, Darien turned wild eyes on Serena, but she seemed every bit as shocked as he was. "Is the castle _sinking_?"

She returned the panicked look, but a whap on the arm stole Darien's glance back to the mermaid. She was holding the book up to him again and pointing at a bit of text near the bottom of the page.

Because he could think of nothing better to do, he read it.

_Merfolk cannot sustain the human form for extended periods of time without attaching to a human aura. By binding with a human lover, the merfolk may remain in human form indefinitely. In the event that a human lover cannot be bound, the merfolk faces certain death unless the spell is reversed. The most effective (though not recommended) way to reverse the spell is for the mer subject to kill a beloved human by stabbing him or her through the heart._

He blinked, and reread the last sentence, then forced himself to meet Sirenetta's penetrating gaze, even as he felt the castle sinking beneath him.

"It's all right, Sirenetta," he heard Serena say, and realized that she'd been reading over his shoulder. "We'll find you a human to bind with."

Darien glanced at Serena, and saw her smiling gently at the mermaid.

"That's what I do," said Serena, tapping her chest with a finger. "That's my job. I'll find you someone to bind with, someone to love. But first we have to get out of here, before the whole place collapses."

Darien looked back at the mermaid. She was staring blankly at Serena, until her gaze slid back to him, wide-eyed.

He nodded. "Right. We'll find someone."

She tilted her chin up and leveled her mesmerizing gaze at him. Then she reached up her hand and placed her palm solidly on his chest, her fingers spreading out over his thudding heart.

He looked down at the hand, jaw clenching nervously. His gaze traced the mermaid's pearlescent arm up to her face, finding her piercing dark eyes still locked on him. He recalled the kiss that had somehow, miraculously, awoken her. That had fixed her broken heart.

Then he thought of the kiss on the shore of Cerulean Lake, though he'd been only half-conscious, half-dreaming, half-thinking it was Serena who had saved his life.

But in her own way, the mermaid had been claiming him. To bind with, to keep her alive, to—

"No."

The mermaid's gaze flickered to Serena.

"No," she repeated, voice slightly trembling. "You can't have him."

A flicker of annoyance, then anger, crossed Sirenetta's face. She curled her fingers until her nails were pressing into the material of Darien's thin undershirt.

There was a challenge in her eyes. Darien felt as if the world was falling out beneath him. His gaze was blurring. The water was rising so fast. They needed to run, but if the mermaid would not leave without a promise . . .

He had to do something.

He had to get Serena to safety.

But what could he promise this girl, this stranger?

"We'll find you someone else," Serena said, half-choking on the words. "But you can't have him."

Hatred filled Sirenetta's eyes, though it faded almost as quickly as it had come, as Darien reached up and took her hand into his. He held it gently, still close to his heart, and half-smiled.

The mermaid's face was once again filled with hope. Perhaps even love.

* * *

Serena watched, stomach twisting, as Darien's fingers grasped the mermaid's. As his warm smile settled upon her. Heart shriveling, Serena inwardly cursed Darien. She cursed the mermaid for loving him. She cursed herself for being so damned determined to bring the mermaid back to begin with, to save her, to heal her broken heart.

"Sirenetta," Darien said, affectionately.

Serena bit down on her lower lip, ignoring the pain it brought, and turned her head away before tears could come.

"You have to listen to Serena."

A breath snagged in Serena's throat.

"I know you're scared right now," said Darien, "and worried that you'll never find a way home. But everything is going to be okay. We're going to take care of you, and get you out of this safely, and if we need to find you someone to love, then that's what we'll do. It won't be hard."

Though his tone was as gentle and kind as Serena had ever heard it, she could instinctively feel the edge to his words, how they must sound to the mermaid. How bittersweet.

"But Serena's right," he continued. "It can't be me. I . . . I'm already . . . bound to someone else."

A chill raced along her spine. She rose her face and gaped at him, hearing his words repeat like a melody in her thoughts. _I'm already bound to someone else._

Heart skipping, she ached to touch him, to see his eyes when he said those words, to figure out if he meant them or if he was only trying to dissuade the mermaid. But Darien was wholly focused on Sirenetta, and Serena had to content herself with staring at his profile as a mild blush warmed her face.

Because she knew that he was right.

He was already bound to _her._

"So will you let us get you out of here?" Darien said. "Let us save you, and I promise it will work out. This is a fairy tale, after all."

He attempted a smile, but the mermaid wasn't looking at him. She let her hand slip from his grasp and then handed him the black book that she still held. He took it, with some uncertainty on his features. But she refused to look at him again, instead turning her back on both of them and walking to the edge of the steps. She crouched down, tying her pale arms around her bare knees, and stared off into the surging waters. She let the tunic fall from her naked shoulders.

The water had continued to rise, and only four steps still remained above the churning waves. Darien turned to Serena, brow drawn in worry as it became clear that the mermaid would not come easily, may not come at all, if her desires were not met.

"You couldn't bind with her anyway," Serena said absently. "You have no aura with which . . ." She trailed off, looked again at the mermaid and the backdrop of frothing waves, and suddenly understood why _this_ was the requirement for retaining a mermaid's human form.

They did not have souls, or destinies. But humans were meant to have fates—happily ever afters—and so to remain human, Sirenetta would require a soul of her own. And the only way to get that would be to share it with another . . . to bind herself . . .

But—Serena looked at Darien, who was frowning at her, not understanding her words. He was from her world. He no more belonged in the human world of Aysel than Sirenetta did.

"Sirenetta—"

The castle steps lurched beneath her feet. Serena yelped and stumbled. Darien caught her, barely recovering his own balance as the castle settled, and continued sinking faster than before. Three steps remained above the lake's surface.

She looked up at Darien, and saw the same resolution in his gaze that she instantly made herself. They had to get out. With or without the mermaid princess. His grip tightened around her. She'd never seen such fear in his eyes, lit up only by the orange glow of the castle.

"We're going to have to swim," she said.

He nodded tersely. "If I don't make it across, I want you to know how much I—"

"No, shut up," she cried, clapping her hands over her ears. He blinked down at her and looked, briefly, like he might smile. His grip didn't loosen. "If you want me to know whatever it is you want to say, you're going to have to make it to the other side."

He closed his mouth and somehow managed to tell her with his gaze the words she had forbidden. She pulled her hands from her ears and squeezed his shoulders. "Cup your hands to push the water behind you," she instructed. He drew her closer, almost fully against him, and she could not fight the embrace. "Keep kicking your legs. Make sure to turn your head once in awhile to breathe. And _don't panic._"

"Serena . . . I . . ."

Her eye caught on something over his shoulder.

She gasped. Ice water flooded her veins.

A knife hung in the air—Diamond's stiletto, stained with blood, clutched in both of Sirenetta's trembling fists.

Serena shoved Darien out of the way with all her mustered strength. He stumbled on the landing and fell onto the top step. Serena stood facing the mermaid alone. Weaponless. Exhausted. Heart throbbing as she stared at the thin blade poised in the air.

But there was hesitation in Sirenetta's wild eyes. Her breathing was ragged. Though her feet were stationary on the stone step, retaining her balance against the surging lake, she was shaking from head to foot.

But she did not lower the blade, even as her target had been pushed away.

Perhaps she had seen a new, preferable target.

Serena raised up both hands, struggling to look upon the girl with sympathy. Understanding. Compassion.

"Sirenetta . . . _please._"

The mermaid sucked in a quick breath, shut her eyes, and plunged the blade into her own heart.

Serena screamed. Darien was back on his feet, at her side, pulling her away from the mermaid.

Sirenetta tottered on the steps. Her hands still clutched the knife's handle, though the blade was buried to the hilt. Blood dribbled from the wound, down her bare, beautiful skin. She stumbled backward, and finally released the knife, staring down at her bloodied hands. Then she looked up. First at Serena, then at Darien.

Her gaze softened as she fell back over the stairs and plunged into the water.

Darien pulled Serena so hard against him that air was crushed from her lungs. Her thoughts were on the mermaid's fallen body, tinted green as it sank beneath the churning water, her black eyes staring up at nothing.

Serena pried herself away from Darien and stumbled to the edge of the steps, looking down at Sirenetta's pale form. As she stared, the body began to dissolve, fading before her very eyes. The pearlescent skin turned to shimmering foam that floated to the water's surface and was swept away.

Perhaps she was the Little Mermaid, after all. Serena shuddered, wondering if she could have prevented this fate if she'd known the truth all along.

If the prince could have ever loved her . . .

A strong hand grasped hers. "Serena."

She nodded and spared a single glance at him. "I'll follow you."

He was already shaking, filled with barely restrained panic. He reached up and cupped Serena's face in both hands.

She held her breath, wanting him to kiss her. Wanting to kiss him back.

But he released her and, without hesitation, leaped into the roiling lake.

Serena waited for him to surface. The wait was not long. He was there, splashing and struggling, but staying afloat. He managed to kick off from the stairs that had sunk and was soon paddling out as quickly as he could—every stroke carrying him slowly and ungracefully to the other side of the cavern.

When she was confident that he had discovered a pattern to his movements, she dove in after him. The water was cold. She had swum this water before, but had had a mermaid's tale and gills, and the cave had not been falling to pieces.

The turbulent water made progress difficult, and her worry for Darien made every stroke a struggle as she sought to keep him in her sight. But he was always there—splashing and kicking. Swimming—kind of. Advancing. Slowly. Steadily. Breathing on occasion. And moving, always moving.

Her eyes stung from the salt. Her lungs burned from exertion. The waves only got bigger. Every now and then she saw a huge chunk of rock hit the water, fallen from somewhere miles above them. The whole world would collapse, all the magic that Diamond had used to create his underground castle. It was all coming down around them, and she and Darien were stuck in the middle.

In the distance, she could see the cave walls getting closer. Darien was swimming faster now, more confident in his strokes, more desperate for speed. She did not know if he saw the cave walls—if he had his eyes open at all. The churning waves mostly hid him from her view, except the occasional splash, or the head of black hair nearly invisible in the dark water.

She looked up again. They were closer still. They were going to make it. She could see the very walls of the cave shaking and crumbling, but they were going to make it.

And then a sickening realization hit her. She froze, treading water, trying to see above the rolling waves.

The shore was gone.

It was not only the castle that was sinking, but the entire cave—including the shore. Including the door and the staircase that would lead them home.

She spun around in the water to see the castle. The stairs were gone, sunk completely beneath the waves. The water was now flooding the first level.

How many feet was that? Fifteen? Twenty?

She turned back to the gigantic stone wall that loomed before her. Saw Darien nearly to the wall, still swimming at maximum speed. He had not noticed that he had nowhere to go, no shore to land on.

They were going to have to dive.

With renewed vigor, she took off after him, and caught up to him before he could crash into the wall. She grabbed his ankle and he stopped, splashing and spluttering. He looked at her wide-eyed, then looked up at the cave wall that was not a dozen feet before them.

"The shore sank too," she yelled over the roaring waves. "The cave is under the water. We need to dive for it."

If his expression had been wild before, it was petrified now. He shook his head, wet hair clinging to his brow. "I can't."

"Yes, you can. Wait here." Before he could argue, she dove beneath the surface and searched the shadowy greenish depths. The wall stretched down into blackness. She forced herself to swim deeper, where the water was calm, but dark. Beneath her she could see the shore, eerie and pale. Sand shifted and billowed in the current. And there, up the bank, in the wall, was the cave and the staircase.

She rushed to the surface. Darien was treading water with some desperation, and now looked at her with relief—the few moments that she'd been under water must have felt much longer to him.

"It's not far," she said. "Take my hand."

"Sere . . . I don't know. I don't think—"

"I'm not leaving you here. So either take my hand and we're both going down there together, or we can stay here and get buried, or drowned, or whatever comes first."

She could see him struggling for breath, and shivering. He looked up at the cave wall, the ceiling that was now crackled with fine hairline fractures. A boulder the size of a person fell nearby, sending a giant wave over their heads, drenching them.

Darien gagged and coughed, and took her hand.

"Just hold your breath and focus on paddling downward. I'll get us to the staircase."

"Won't the staircase be filled with water, too?"

She gulped, and nodded. "But only for twenty feet or so." Before panic could set in, she squeezed his hand and asked, "Ready?"

"No," he said. And sucked in a deep breath.

She plunged beneath the surface, and he followed as she forced him to go against instinct, forced him to swim down into blackness, away from the air. The water around them became calm; the world turned black and green. Serena spotted the entrance to the stairway and swam with all her might. Already her lungs were burning—she was too tired, her stamina was lost. But she kept swimming. When they neared the wall, she felt Darien begin to panic. Felt him trying to pull away from her, trying to return to the surface. But she held on tight, dug her fingernails into his flesh, and pushed ahead, knowing that the water was rising with every moment that passed, putting more and more distance between them and the door that would take them home.

She found the cave. Darkness engulfed them. Darien fought harder now, ripping his hand from her grip. She turned, found him by touch and gripped the cloth of his shirt. She tied her arms around his waist and kicked off the wall, forcing them up the staircase. Her thigh hit the rough stone edge of a step and pain jolted through her, but it was quickly forgotten in the struggle as she pulled and kicked and forced them up through the winding staircase. Lungs burning—begging for breath. All air had left her. Hot tears were in her eyes.

She needed to breathe. Dark spots overtook her sight. Her head was light. Her thoughts fuzzy.

She realized amidst her growing panic that Darien had stopped struggling. Stopped moving at all.

She held his limp form with one arm, using her other hand to grasp the stairs that passed beneath them. Pulling themselves up. Pushing against the stone. When her muscles ached too much to continue, she wrapped both arms around Darien's torso and kicked with as much strength as she could.

They heaved away from the stairs. Serena's back collided with the rough ceiling.

The world was spinning. Sparks flashed before her eyes, before dimming to blackness. Her lungs contracted, flexing against her will, fighting her reluctance to breathe. Darien was so heavy. And she was so tired. And there was no end in sight.

They were going to die here, she suddenly realized, as the flashes in her eyes began to look like little candle flames stretching for miles and miles and miles . . .

_You aren't going to die here._

Her eyes snapped open at Endymion's calm, sure voice in her head.

In the distance, blurring above the water, was a halo of light.

It occurred to her that maybe this was death. But no, she'd seen death, and this was not it.

This was hope.

With her last surge of strength, she planted her feet against the wall and launched herself forward and up, banging against the walls, the ceiling, searching, struggling, floating . . .

She broke the surface.

Air filled her in great gulps.

She pulled Darien's head above the water. They were still on the staircase. It was dark, but not black—a single torch remained burning steadily on the wall above them. And there was the door—a huge mirror with a simple wooden frame—hanging on the wall not a dozen steps away.

Freedom. Escape. Safety.

She blinked salt from her eyes and beamed down at Darien, soaking wet and sprawled on the staircase. Lips blue. Eyes closed.

Motionless.

* * *

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	21. Ever After

How fitting to post the final chapter on Mamoru's birthday! Let us imagine that I planned it that way the whole time. ^_^

I know you're eager, so I'll put my ANs at the bottom. Enjoy!

Return to Aysel: Another Grimm Tale  
Alicia Blade

Chapter 21: Ever After  
"_Is it you, my Prince?" said she to him. "You have waited a long while."_  
from Perrault's Sleeping Beauty

Serena's momentary relief of breaking the water's surface became terror as she gripped Darien's shirt. She felt his face—the skin damp and cold. She put her ear to his chest and had to strain to hear, but yes—there was a heartbeat. Faint though the heartbeat was, hope surged through Serena's veins.

"Darien, wake up!" She cupped his face. His lips were parted and chapped. She strung her fingers through his wet hair, brushing it back off his face. He was shivering, and noting this made her realize that she was, too.

"Darien!" Her voice cracked. The sound echoed off the cavern walls. Water was quickly making its way up around them, the waves sloshing first at Serena's knees, then her thighs, now her hips. "Darien, please!"

She looked up at the mirror—their escape. It was so close, but she would have to lift him up to get him through it and she didn't have the strength.

What else could she do? Give him mouth-to-mouth? CPR? But she didn't know how, and couldn't it injure a person if . . . if . . .

She grasped his shoulders and shook him. She cried his name again as two hot tears slipped off her chin and mingled with the salt on his shirt. She had to try. She had to do _something._

She strained to remember all the times she'd seen it on TV and cupped her hands together. Sitting up, she pressed her palm against Darien's sternum, prayed, and pushed.

Nothing happened. Was she being too gentle? Was she pounding on the right spot?

Clenching her jaw, she tried again, harder. She put all of the weight of her body into the pressure and tried to visualize the water in his lungs, being gradually pushed up and out.

"You can't leave me," she whispered. "Not again. Not you too."

She counted to ten, and then bent over and wrapped her lips over his mouth. He was cold to the touch. Pinching his nose—she was sure she'd seen that done—she breathed for him three times.

Still, no sign of life.

She started again.

And again.

Push. Push. Breathe.

He didn't respond.

"_Darien!_" She sobbed, frustration overwhelming her.

How unfair, after everything. To be saved, to have her heart back, to finally know and understand and to be alive again, only to lose . . .

Balling her hands into fists, she pounded at his chest. Her thoughts overflowed with pain, remembering blood and death and loneliness.

Was it some twisted act of fate, punishing her for daring to try and love again? Reminding her who she was, _what_ she was?

To not have kissed him—just like before.

To not have let him tell her the words, the words she so badly wanted to hear, the words she so badly wanted to say—just like before . . .

She harshly shook her head, dislodging the thoughts. She couldn't lose him.

She swiped at her eyes. She _wouldn't_ lose him.

The water had risen half way up Darien's chest, but Serena ignored it. She clasped her hands and began again.

Push. Push. Push. Push. Breathe. Breathe. Push. Push.

Without warning, water gurgled up from Darien's mouth. Serena gasped, then quickly turned his head to the side, letting the water spill from his lips.

He coughed.

A relieved cry escaped her and she took his face in both hands, calling his name, pleading.

He opened his eyes. The blue of his irises had never been so beautiful.

With another weak cough, he smiled and reached up, stroking the trail of her tears with his thumb. "Did we make it?"

She sobbed. "Almost. The exit is right there."

She didn't gesture at the mirror, and he didn't look.

He tried to smile, but it was a weak expression. "Is this the part where the damsel kisses her knight in shining armor?"

Unable to tell if he was serious, Serena stared at him and, after a moment, spotted a teasing glint in his expression. She laughed—relief and gratitude breaking through her terror. "Who's the damsel and who's the knight?" She gripped his hands. "Besides, we're not safe yet."

Darien sat up with a grunt, and had to pause and cough up more water, pounding on his chest. When his breathing was stable, he squeezed Serena's fingers and used the other hand to balance himself as he stood. "In that case, our happily ever after awaits."

"Technically," she said as they stumbled toward the mirror, "Guardians aren't supposed to get happily ever afters."

Darien glanced back at her. Despite how ragged and exhausted he looked, there was a familiar twinkle in his gaze. "After all this, I was thinking maybe the fates could make an exception . . . just this once."

* * *

Serena flopped face-first onto the muddy shore, and heard Darien crumple beside her with a groan—half pain, half relief.

"Serena!" The cry came from more voices than she could distinguish. She pushed her wet bangs out of her eyes and blinked up at the figures crouched around her. There was Lita, her auburn hair outlined in moonlight, her face changing from concerned to happy in the moment it took Serena to squint up at her.

"She's okay," Lita said, stroking Serena's hair. Then her mother was there, lifting her in warm arms, holding her against her chest like she was a child again.

"Darien's hurt," Serena said, but Raye was already kneeling beside him, pressing fabric against the sword wound on his thigh.

"I have sent my sister to alert the king to our return."

Serena turned to Tristis. She was kneeling beside a prone Melvin, wrapping his limbs in different colored silken bandages, torn from multiple dress skirts. "They will prepare rooms for you all. We have medicines, and a healer." But her face was drawn with worry.

Darien pushed Raye away, holding the material against his own wound. "No offense, but can't we go back to the dwarfs instead?"

"Too far," Tristis said, not looking at all offended. "I'm not sure the magician would . . ." She licked her lips and tentatively brushed a blood-matted strand of hair off Melvin's brow. "Worry not. You are heroes now. You will receive a due reception."

Serena did not realize how cold the night had become until a chill spread over her damp skin. She surveyed the shore, everything painted silver beneath the low-hanging moon. The horizon was just beginning to glow with the approaching sun.

Mina was sitting nearby, trying to comfort a wide-eyed Cytherea in her lap. Amy and Zoicite sat higher on the bank—Amy was trying to tend to his wounds, but his kisses kept distracting her. Not far away, Emerald was wrapping Sapphire's shoulder in more makeshift bandages. Luna and Briar Rose lingered beside Melvin, helping Tristis tend to him, but the blood was seeping through the silks as quickly as they could apply them. Melvin was unconscious, his face beaded with fever.

Serena's heart sunk down into her stomach. "Is he going to be all right?"

No one responded.

Tensing, Serena opened her mouth to ask again, but then a hand wrapped around hers and squeezed. She turned to Darien. His brow was drawn, the same fear mirrored in his eyes. She gulped, and did not press further.

Of course he would be okay. It was Melvin—how could he not be?

She instinctively curled closer to Darien and gripped his soaked arm.

A moment later, hooting and whistling could be heard off in the woods. Tristis's hands paused, her eyes flashing with irritation, but the look was gone by the time the first elves emerged from the trees.

There were both men and women. They carried large wicker baskets, trays lined with foods, and heavy woven cloth. At the front of the crowd hailed an elf man with a cherry red face and a crown of bluebells on his head. Tristen walked at his side.

"Tristis!" he bellowed. "You're all right!" His eyes were twinkling, both with a grin and with unshed tears.

Tristis glanced up at her father, and her features softened. "Yes. But these men are badly hurt." She laid a hand upon Melvin's arm. "The magician will need to be carried. You brought—?" She spotted the heavy fabrics. "Good, bring that canvas over here." Her voice rang with such authority that the elves and their king paused, bewildered. She ignored their surprise. "Lay out the cloth—quickly. We must get him back to the city as fast as possible. I trust the healer was told to prepare for him?"

Tristis coached the elves as they spread out the canvas—each sheet had a tree branch sewn into either end and Serena guessed that their makeshift gurneys usually posed as hammocks.

Following Tristis's commands—half of which were "Gentle!"—the elves lifted Melvin onto the material and carried him into the forest.

Tristis lingered, giving more orders for the elves to assist the other injured heroes. More hammocks were laid out, and while Darien, Sapphire, and Zoicite argued that they could walk just fine, they were soon all forced to lie down and were carried away.

Heavy cloaks and blankets were produced from the baskets and thrown over the ladies. As they followed the elves back toward the village, bowls of nuts and berries were passed around for nourishment and only too gratefully accepted.

As they wound their way through an overgrown path, Serena heard Amy gasp and pause, one hand on her belly.

"Uh-oh," said Lita, but Amy shook her head.

"No, no, it's much too early for that," she said. Turning, she grinned at her friends with glittering eyes. "But he just kicked."

This announcement was met with a swarm of giddy ladies, elf and human alike, all trying to touch Amy's stomach and feel the miracle for themselves. Amy did not seem to mind as she propped herself against Serena's shoulder with a hand over her heart, beaming. "I wasn't sure, until just now . . ." she said, tears tumbling down her pale cheeks. "I didn't know if he had . . . if he could have survived that."

Serena squeezed her and imagined that little white candle up in the Cave of Lost Souls, all ready to spark to life.

"Is it a boy?" she asked.

"Oh, we won't know until he, or she, comes for sure. But . . . I have a feeling."

"Any names picked out?" Raye said as they started walking again, Amy being half-carried between Serena and Lita.

Pressing her lips together, Amy looked down, carefully choosing her steps on the uneven path. "Yes . . ." Her gaze flickered to Serena. "If it's a girl, we're going to name her after you."

Serena's jaw dropped. "Really?"

"Blast you, Amy," said Raye, "Jade and I were going to name _our_ first daughter Serena."

Amy laughed, and mindlessly stroked her belly.

"But if it's a boy," she whispered, "we're going to name him Endymion."

* * *

Three messengers were sent to the three kingdoms, on the three fastest horses the elves could provide. Incidentally, these were the same horses that the elves had captured from Darien, Melvin, and Zoicite, but Serena did not find this out soon enough to be properly irritated. In fact, when the group had returned from the lakeshore, the elves were so hospitable, so accommodating, so eager to please, that even Darien and Zoicite seemed to have a tough time staying mad about their earlier treatment.

Each guest had been set up with their own private hut in the boughs of the giant oak tree. Water had been boiled for baths and scented with lavender. The sole elven doctor—an elderly woman who had had plenty of practice bandaging wounds and setting broken bones given that the elves were so prone to pulling stupid stunts—worked tirelessly, darting between the huts that separated her patients.

Mostly she spent her time with Melvin.

Zoicite's injuries were not severe, and a few well-placed salves had him up and about in no time.

Darien's leg was rubbed with a liberal amount of witch hazel ointment, and he'd been instructed to change the bandages every few hours until they came off clean.

Sapphire's shoulder had required stitches, and was set into a sling to keep him from disturbing them.

But Melvin. . . .

Serena did not really know what the old woman was doing to Melvin. The huts were small, and Melvin's was so full with the doctor and a series of her assistants, always coming and going on different errands, and Tristis who refused to leave, that Serena found she was only in the way when she tried to check on her best friend. And so she'd lingered on the rope bridge outside his hut as the sun had risen. She'd listened with growing anxiety as the doctor called for different herbs and more bandages—always more bandages.

When she could take no more, Serena retreated to her own chambers. She had bathed, eaten from the tray of fruits left by her hammock, and dozed fitfully for not more than an hour before she was up again, pacing her small room and wringing her hands.

She stopped at the only window and forced herself to draw in a measured breath. She had to trust that someone would come to tell her if there was any change in Melvin's condition. Worrying would solve nothing . . . but knowing this did not make her worry any less.

There was a faint smell of smoke in the village, leftover from fires that had been reduced to cinders in the night. And sap. And even the distant scent of rain.

She exhaled. Below her, past the branches and straw canopies of other huts, she could see torches and the shadows of elves frolicking between the trees.

They did not seem to realize that one of their heroes was suffering. Perhaps no one had told them. And so there was music. There had been music for the past few hours, since she and her companions had arrived, battle-worn and weary. A celebration had ensued that showed no sign of ceasing. Gongs and drums pounded somewhere deep in the shadows. Laughter, shouting, cheers echoed through the trees. Occasionally, as she watched, Serena spotted an elf doing somersaults or flips, or a couple of elves dancing, quick on their tiptoes, or a crowd of children screeching and giggling as they played their new favorite game: the Dragon vs. the Phoenix.

It was like a parade. No worries. No cares. Everyone was just so . . . happy.

The sight made Serena want to scream.

Her best friend was hurt. Her best friend was . . . was . . .

Footsteps and the creak of swinging ropes drew her attention away from the window. She expected Darien, the only other person in the village who would understand her misery, and could already feel a comforting warmth grow in her chest.

But it was Sapphire who appeared in the doorway.

His face was serious. He wore the same torn, stained shirt, as there were no larger tunics in the village that could fit him. The sling kept his arm firmly knocked against his chest.

"Please excuse my interruption," he said, just outside the threshold.

Serena settled her weight against the windowsill. "It's okay. Is something wrong?"

He seemed to hesitate, before taking a single step into the room. "I want to apologize," he said. "Though I am aware that no words can ever undo what I did to you. I—" His voice wavered and he paused, setting his jaw before meeting Serena's gaze. "Please know, Lady Serena, that I never intended to mislead you. That if I'd known . . ."

"It's all right."

"No. It isn't. Not really." He took another uncertain step into the room. "Lady Serena . . . I know what it is to love someone with your whole self, your whole heart. Now that I have come so close to losing Emerald. . . . And to know what you have gone through, and to have . . . to have reignited . . . to have reawakened those feelings, and that loss . . . I cannot—I am so sorry."

Serena did not think Sapphire knew precisely how she felt, but it seemed a trivial point to argue.

She attempted a reassuring smile. "You were a victim too, Sapphire. And if you want to know the truth, it turned out that dying was the best thing that's happened to me in a very long time."

He frowned. "Dying?"

"And then coming back to life, of course. It helped me realize some things and . . . accept some things, that I probably never would have accepted otherwise."

"But . . . that hardly excuses—"

"You didn't know. How could you have known, without your memories, and with Diamond leading us all to believe. . . . And besides, in the end . . . it was rather nice being able to hold Endymion one last time."

He lowered his gaze, misunderstanding—but that was how she intended it.

"How is Emerald?"

He straightened at the name. His eyes brightened—as did the ghostlike aura drifting over his head.

"She is well. Sleeping, at the moment." He paused. "We are to be married, as soon as we return to Cashlin."

This time, it was an unhindered smile that found Serena. "Congratulations."

"Thank you. And—thank you for . . . everything. You've made this possible, Lady Serena. Guardian."

A firework exploded somewhere over the treetops—the boom shook the canopy and briefly shocked the world red and yellow. It was followed by a roar of approval from below, and then more fireworks.

"I suppose those will wake up Emerald," Sapphire said.

"You should go to her. I was just about to go check on Melvin, see if there's been any improvement."

Sapphire seemed humbled at Melvin's name, and even bowed a bit, perhaps subconsciously. "I will leave you then, with, again, my apology . . . and my gratitude. And . . . my wishes that you will find happiness, Lady Serena."

He disappeared into the shadows. Serena listened to the sound of his boots fading as he crossed the rope-and-plank bridge that connected to a nearby maple, and then she was left with her thoughts and the fireworks.

She sighed and rubbed a palm over her brow, but her respite was short.

"Lady Guardian!"

Serena started, hearing the quick pitter of feet on the platform outside the hut. Princess Tristen appeared at her door, wide-eyed. "Come quick. The magician—"

Needing no further prompting, Serena darted past the princess, over the rope bridge, and across the platform into Melvin's hut, nearly choked with panic.

Only the doctor and Tristis remained. The doctor was standing before a basin of water, washing blood from her small hands.

The princess sat beside Melvin, clutching his hand. Though her expression was empty, her dark eyes stormed with anguish.

Serena gulped hard and stepped into the room. The sunlight falling on the bed should have made the room warm and inviting, but there was a stark chill in the air.

Melvin's eyes were still closed. He was wrapped nearly head to toe with blood-spotted bandages, tufts of messy brown hair poking through the material. His glasses had been removed. Beads of sweat lingered on his forehead.

The world spun beneath Serena's feet, and she steadied herself on a small side table.

More footsteps thudded outside, and a shadow fell over the doorway.

"I heard—!" Darien did not finish.

Tristis did not look at either of them.

Drying her hands on a towel, the doctor turned to Serena with weary eyes. "I have done all I can for him," she said in a voice that cracked with rarely known sorrow.

Darien came to the foot of the bed. "And he . . ."

"The bleeding will not stop. If this continues . . . there is nothing else to be done. His fate is with the storytellers now."

Serena sucked in a trembling breath, suddenly light-headed. She watched, stricken, as a tear rolled out of Tristis's eye and the elf princess bent over, nestling her cheek against Melvin's shoulder.

"He fought so bravely," she murmured. "He saved us."

Serena knew Darien had slipped a hand into hers, but she hardly felt him. Her jaw had dropped. Her eyes were glued to a charcoal aura lingering over the princess.

A thunderous voice arose from outside the hut. "What's this I hear about the magician dying before I've had a chance to give him a proper reward?" The king stomped into the room, arms folded over his chest. Tristen appeared in the doorway behind him, clutching the door's frame as if afraid that death could be contagious.

Without stirring, Tristis murmured into the blankets, "Father, please."

The sorrow that filled her words stole the buoyancy from the king. As if realizing that no one was playing a practical joke on him, his face fell. "Oh," he managed, looking down on Melvin with sympathy and even a touch of guilt. Clearing his throat, he scratched behind an ear. "I-I am sorry. He was a fine magician."

Serena clenched her teeth and inched forward so that her legs met the cot.

"I-I might be able to help him."

Tristis raised her head as another tear made its way down her pale cheek.

"But it would require your assistance."

Straightening, Tristis squeezed Melvin's hand at the same time Serena felt Darien squeeze hers.

"Anything," said the princess.

Serena glanced at the girl's aura and hesitated, before proceeding.

"Will you bind yourself to him?" she said, speaking slowly so that she could not be misunderstood. "Will you tie your destiny to his, so that his happiness will always be your happiness, and his sorrow will always be your sorrow? Will you share your fate with him? Your . . . your very soul with him, forever?"

Tristis's lips parted with surprise, but a light brimmed in the depths of her black eyes. "Yes," she whispered, breathless and hopeful.

"Now, hold on just one second," said the king, pushing Darien out of the way to get closer to the bed. "What is all this about? It sounds like . . . that almost sounds like marriage!"

"In a way," said Serena, "it is stronger than marriage."

"See that? You can't _marry_ him!"

As if just noticing her father was speaking, Tristis blinked up at him. "Why not?"

"Because he—he's human! And . . . and that would make him king!"

Tristis's face had gone blank again, but suddenly it softened. And she smiled, a barely recognizable, tranquil smile. The king stumbled back a step.

"The magician has made me laugh, Father," she said, her lashes dipping. "By your own law, I am already his rightful bride, and he the rightful king."

The king gaped at her. "What? When?" He glanced at Tristen in the doorway, but she shrugged. He turned back to Tristis. "What was the joke?"

Tristis's grin broadened a hair more and she turned her whimsical eyes upon Melvin. "You would not understand." A heartbeat passed as she laced their fingers together. She looked up at Serena again. "Yes," she repeated. "I would be honored to be bound to him."

Serena nodded, seeing that Tristis's fate was already taking on a tinge of heather gray. As she reached her hand out toward the aura, it occurred to her that these two would never be able to be too far separated. Melvin would never be able to come home.

She hoped he would feel it was a worthwhile sacrifice.

A tendril of the silver cloud clung to her finger as she pulled it away.

It seemed to shimmer at her touch, as if it knew the role she intended for it.

Serena held the tendril up to Melvin's lips and as he took in a weak, shuddering breath, the aura slipped into his mouth and disappeared.

"In this way," she murmured, "you are forever bound."

Her eyes were soft as she looked down upon her best friend, his face ashen with the nearness of death. There was a moment in which Serena feared he would not be able to accept the fate offered him. That being of another world would prevent him from binding with Tristis.

But her fears were quickly dismissed.

Melvin moaned—a deep, cranky moan, filled with aches and pains—and the aura slipped out of his mouth and drifted up to hang over his head.

His brown eyes opened, squinting. His brow furrowed as he looked up at Tristis and then Serena. Confused, he raised a hand to his face. "Where're my glasses?"

Tristis grabbed them off the bedside table and handed them to him. Her face was flushed pale pink and her eyes glowed, as bright as they had ever been. She looked almost giddy, and this was the sight that first greeted Melvin when he slid his spectacles onto his nose. He gasped in surprise.

The princess's small, hopeful smile became a much brighter one, overflowing with relief.

It did not help Melvin's speechlessness.

In her happiness, Serena felt a small hand tap her elbow and the elf healer murmured, "You make a good doctor," before leaving the hut.

"How do you feel?" Darien asked, shaking off his own astonishment.

Melvin pried his stare from Tristis to look at Darien and Serena. "I . . . hurt. Everywhere."

"You _were_ attacked by a two-ton fire-breathing dragon."

Melvin groaned, as if the memory made the pain worse.

"Thanks for saving the day, Melvin," Darien said, quite seriously.

But at that moment, Tristis pressed her hand again into Melvin's and his surprise was such that he barely heard Darien's words. He turned wide eyes to the princess, but she kept her gaze resolutely fixed on the blankets as more blood rushed to her cheeks.

The king harrumphed. "Well, I'm still not thrilled with the whole human thing, but I guess if you can make my daughter smile like that, then you have my blessing. And you will make a fine king."

Melvin's eyes widened behind his glasses. "King?"

"Aye, m'boy. Welcome to the family."

Tristis cleared her throat, pulling Melvin's attention back to her. She still could not look at him. "Only if you will have me," she breathed, so quietly that he barely heard her.

"H-have you?"

Serena laced one arm through Darien's elbow and the other through the king's. "I think that's our cue."

She shoved the two men out the door before turning to look back at Melvin, meaning to give him an encouraging smile, but his stunned gaze was locked on the princess. It was peculiar seeing the light aura over his head—the exact shade as Tristis's. Peculiar even more, the princess's flushed cheek and hopeful gaze.

A happy ending in the making.

* * *

The day's celebration had only just begun to die down when it had cause to kick right back up again: the princess's engagement had been announced.

There had already been talk of a weeklong party in the elven village, and it was only exacerbated by the gossip. The story of how the all-powerful magician had defeated the evil sorcerer had spread fast as dandelion seeds and the elves could not help feeling as if their future king's victory was their victory, too.

Serena could not keep up with the celebration. A full day of eating, drinking, dancing, and more eating—along with having slept only in winks that morning—had left her yearning for a moment's peace.

She finally found that moment on the bank of the river as the sun descended over the forest. She heaved a sigh as she sank down beside a sleepy Darien, kicked off her boots, and dipped her toes into the cool water. Darien was a step ahead of her—the legs of his pants rolled up, lying back on the sandy shore with his arms tucked beneath his head. The evening was crisp and cool, and the waterfall almost masked the racket from the village.

"Melvin and the elf princess," said Serena. "Who would have thought?"

Darien snickered. "What I can't believe is that he not only found a pretty girl who adores him, but who is actually _shorter_ than he is. Must be a match made in heaven."

"Oh, is that all it takes?" Serena said, tucking the hem of her skirt beneath her thighs and splashing the water up on her legs.

"Pretty much."

She smirked down at Darien, but his eyes were closed, and her smile quickly fell away. How could he look so content, after all that had happened?

How could she _feel_ so content?

"How's your leg?" she asked, her eyes darting to the blood-stained hole in his pants, where Diamond's sword had struck.

"Oh, fine. Now that we're not running for our lives, it actually has time to hurt a little." He grinned cheekily. "But there are worse things. Like . . . having your heart ripped out. Or being turned into a goose."

Serena lay down, ignoring the sand that would get in her hair, and let the sound of the waterfall drown out everything but her and Darien.

"So what next?" he said after a long, peaceful moment.

"I'm trying not to think about it."

"It's _all_ I can think about."

She inhaled slowly, letting her eyes lock on a single wispy cloud, alone in the sky. "Well . . . we go home, I guess." A pause. "What are we going to tell Melvin's parents?"

"His mom always said he was destined for greatness," said Darien. "I think being the king of the elves qualifies."

With a groan that was half-laughter, Serena covered her face with her arms. "I can't wait to tell that story."

"Well . . . I had another idea. Other than going home right away."

She heard him shift onto his side, and lowered her arms.

"I overheard your mom invite us to Obelia. I think we should go."

"Don't you think your parents are going to be freaked out enough as it is? I'm sure they've put up a million missing person posters by now."

Darien shrugged. "I could have Mr. Grimm deliver a note to them."

"A note?" Serena guffawed. "Saying what? Not the truth, I hope."

"Well I haven't figured that out yet. But since all three of us are missing, they probably assume we're up to some crazy shenanigans, so I'll just go with that. Tell them we temporarily joined the circus or something."

"Right. Brilliant plan."

Darien continued as if he hadn't heard her. "And we can always drop this semester and start up in the spring instead."

Serena blinked up at him. She'd almost forgotten about school. "But . . . we'll lose our apartment. Our deposit was only for a month."

He shrugged, trailing his fingers through the sand. "There are lots of apartments. And we should think about downsizing anyway, if it's just going to be the two of us."

That was right. It was just going to be the two of them.

She sighed. "I'm going to miss him."

"Me too," said Darien. "And that's another thing—don't you think we should stay for the wedding?"

The thought of missing Melvin's wedding _was_ a painful one. "Are you done with the persuasive arguments yet?"

"Just one more."

She quirked an eyebrow.

"I'd like to meet your father."

Startled, she propped herself up on her elbows. "You would?"

"Of course I would."

"But . . . he's not really my father, you know. I mean, he is _biologically,_ but . . . I only met him once. And it was really awkward at the time. There was so much going on. . . ." When Darien didn't respond, she added, "I guess it might be nice meeting him with my mother there."

"It'd be good for you. Offer closure, or something."

"Thanks, Dr. Darien. But why do _you_ want to meet him?"

"I just figured, being a fairy-tale king and all, he's probably old-fashioned."

"So?"

"So. This might be the only chance I ever get to meet him." His lips quirked. "And I thought maybe I should ask for his blessing."

Serena's breath snagged, but his teasing smile caught her off-guard. An almost-relieved laugh escaped her, and she smacked him hard on the shoulder, then fell back onto the sand. "You're only saying that because _Melvin_ gets to marry a princess."

He chuckled. "Maybe I am a little jealous."

"You weren't supposed to admit it!"

"But . . . you're technically a princess too, aren't you?" He was still grinning, but it had a sudden seriousness to it as he looked down on her, a faint intensity behind his gaze.

Her heart thumped. "Darien . . ." But no further words would form.

He looked away.

After a silence in which Serena stared at Darien and he avoided looking back at her, he reached into a pocket and pulled out the golden locket.

"I believe this is yours," he said, handing it to her.

She took it with both hands, rubbing her thumbs over the engraved surface. "Actually, it's my mom's."

She pried it open with her fingernail and looked at the tiny portrait of herself and Darien and Melvin. How happy she had been that day. How bold her smile. How bright her eyes.

And Darien, caught mid-laugh, though the joke was now forgotten, could not have looked more charming.

And Melvin . . . sweet, self-conscious Melvin.

"We look so normal here," she said. "And now look at us. A Guardian, an elf king, a . . ." Her gaze slid to Darien, who raised both eyebrows at her. "A knight in shining armor?"

"Yeah," he said with a snort. "I'm a real tyrant with a sword."

She returned her gaze to the locket.

"Really," Darien said, gesturing out at the water, "who wants normal when they can have all this?"

She slowly sat up again, taking in the frothing white foam beneath the waterfall, the dense forest just beginning to turn red and gold with the change of season, the bright blue sky that looked down upon kingdoms and magic and dwarfs and elves and kings and queens and—

"I do." She folded her arms around her knees, mindlessly fingering the chain of the locket. "I still want to go to college. And have our apartment together. And . . . and just be normal. And happy."

She felt Darien tense at her side. "And . . . maybe date a normal, regular guy, who can't fight with a sword and doesn't know any magic spells and isn't even a real prince?"

She eyed him, expecting another joke, but he was all sincerity now.

He sat up, rubbing nervously at the back of his neck. Serena stared at his profile, watching as he pulled his feet from the water and dug them into the sand.

"Honestly," she said, "that doesn't sound half bad."

His gaze met hers, turbulent as he searched for words. "I know that you and Endymion . . . that you were . . . well . . ."

"In love?" she offered.

He said nothing. For a moment, she was tempted to laugh at his miserable expression, but managed not to.

"I saw him," she said. "When I died. He was . . . _waiting_ for me."

Darien frowned, more than a little disbelieving. Then his features softened, as if he realized it would not be the strangest thing that had happened. "You saw him? For real?"

She had expected, perhaps, jealousy, but Darien's curiosity surprised her.

She nodded. "And I finally had a chance to say goodbye. It's like . . . for two years I've had this constant pain in my chest, like something was missing. And being with you started to change that, but at the same time, the more . . . the more comfortable I became with you, the worse I felt. Like I was betraying Endymion."

Darien sucked in a pained breath, and she scooted closer to him until their shoulders touched.

"But that's gone now. I feel whole again. And weightless. And . . . and happy. Seeing Endymion again was so . . . so . . ."

She paused. Darien was not looking at her. Rather than appearing pleased, he looked dark and sullen. Reaching up, she turned his face to her.

He avoided looking at her at first, but when he did, she saw him gulp harshly and pry his lips open.

"Serena, I . . . I love you. You must know that by now. I would do anything for you."

She stiffened. She wasn't surprised by the words, and yet hearing them from his own mouth was so much different than hearing them in her imagination. So much warmer. So much stronger. So real.

"But . . ." he continued, ". . . I'm not _him._"

These words _did _surprise her, and she almost could have laughed. "You think I don't know that?" She tied her arms around his elbow and squeezed up against him, seeking his warm, and the intimacy she'd so long been denied. He remained tense, uncertain, but seemed to slowly melt against her touch. "Darien, I've been falling for you for a very long time. Even before I came to Aysel in the first place. And now, not only do I feel closer to you than ever before, but suddenly it's like I have my heart back, and I'm free to give it to anyone I choose. And—"

She was silenced by Darien's hand on her cheek, the calming touch in such opposition to her racing pulse.

His thumb was velvet on her skin. His fingertips traced the dip of her temple, the curve of her ear, the line of her jaw.

A shiver raced down her spine, and a brief, hesitant smile blossomed on her lips. "Darien, I . . ." She hesitated, her stomach tightening. The familiar sensation of her guardian's power lingered hot and electric at the base of her spine and the sudden fear of losing it again, of sacrificing the gift of magic, nearly halted her tongue.

But she met Darien's gaze, part hope, part worry, and secretly prayed that he was right. Maybe this time the fates _would_ make an exception.

Her lashes fluttered, the smile returned—almost shy now. "I love you," she whispered, slowly, relishing the words, relishing the almost indistinguishable widening of Darien's eyes.

The magic in her core surged hot through her veins, but just as quickly settled down again. She let out a breath of relief. She was still a Guardian, and she was still in love.

Again.

A heartbeat passed.

"So . . . what would you say if I were to ask you out to dinner when we get home?"

She half-laughed, the question so trivial, and so perfect. "A resounding yes."

Darien dipped his head, his black bangs barely hiding his smile. "And if I were to try to hold your hand in the movie theater?"

"Hold hands?" she said with a laugh. "What are we, thirtee—?"

She was silenced by tender lips, muffling her gasp.

The kiss turned into two and then three, before Serena could even begin to think. Serena hardly noticed when he gathered her up in his arms, or when they fell back down to the shore, or when his fingers entwined in her sandy hair. She didn't notice the drums or the fireworks or the drunken singing in the distance. She didn't notice the sun blazing on the horizon or the fine, cool mist from the waterfall.

But she did notice when he pulled away, and how her entire body tingled—she couldn't tell if it was from the magic inside her, or if that was just the way she was supposed to feel.

"I should have done that a long time ago," he murmured against her.

Serena smiled, half-delirious. She thought of all the times she had wished he _would_ kiss her. Before, the hope had always brought a tinge of guilt and panic.

But now, with the bars finally gone from her heart, only the hope remained.

"Actually, your timing is perfect."

_And they lived happily to the end of their days._

* * *

_Please review. _

Again, I must give my most fervent gratitude to **KaitlynFall,** who beta'd and edited and had a ton of awesome ideas and suggestions every step of the way. This story wouldn't have been half as good without her. [She's also just a really awesome person and writer and you should all go read her stories, and no, I'm not just saying that because she keeps using characters from To the Gentleman in the Back. ^_^]

**ANNOUNCEMENT: December 7, 2010**

Hey everyone! Guess what!

_**I am going to be published!**_

My debut novel, CINDER, is scheduled to be released from Feiwel & Friends (an imprint of Macmillan) in Spring 2012, under my real name Marissa Meyer.

Here's the summary as posted in _Publisher's Weekly:_

"In _Cinder_, the first book of the futuristic, fairy-tale inspired series, Cinderella is re-envisioned through teen heroine Cinder, part girl and part machine, who must piece together her mysterious past before she can fulfill her destiny and save the kingdom from an otherworldly enemy. Cinder finds allies loosely based on other fairy-tale characters-Little Red Riding Hood (_Scarlet_), Rapunzel (_Cress_), and Snow White (_Winter_)-as they join forces to conquer evil and find their happily-ever-afters."

You can stay updated by visiting my blog or signing up for my newsletter (links on my profile).

So many of you have been following my stories since I started writing (twelve loooong years ago!) and I'm so thrilled to be able to share this news with you. I hope you will read and enjoy CINDER, the entire Lunar series, and all my novels in the future!

With endless love and gratitude for your constant support and encouragement,

Alicia Blade

a.k.a. Marissa Meyer


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